


Softly Comes the Storm

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sexual Slavery, Breathplay, Caning, Chastity Device, Collars, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, Flogging, Heavy BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, Lingerie, M/M, Mommy Issues, Sex Toys, Spanking, Spitroasting, Subdrop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 48,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Gellert Grindelwald liked to think of himself as a patient man, but his most recent project had been frustratingly fruitless. He’d had the boy looking for an obscurus for months, and for what? Some paltry affection from a touch-starved waif. Yes, Grindelwald was a patient man, but he wasn’tthatpatient.So he was going to find somethingworthwhilefor his obedient spy to do. After all, he had plenty of connections in New York’s underground, and some of them would pay dearly for something pretty and obedient. They would pay dearly, indeed.





	1. Caged Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Today on “Weird things I had to research for this chapter,” we have “etymology of yeah.” What a way to start a fic.
> 
> Anyway though, hi readers, please for the love of god and all that is holy mind the warnings. There is noncon in this fic, and it’s explicit. There will be plenty of comfort to (hopefully) balance out the angst, but this is definitely still whump fic. If you want to avoid the rape scene, stop reading at “raucous laughter” and pick up again at “With a shooing gesture...”
> 
> Please remember, if you want to support my writing I’ll be eternally thankful. You can click over to my [tumblr page](http://twitchtipthegnawer.tumblr.com/) to give me a hand and help me continue to write! There’s also some exclusive stuff about the fic on there, so even if you don’t particularly care about my writing you can still see some cool extras?

He was shaking hard when they locked the door to the basement. He wasn’t stupid; he knew what this meant. Mr. Graves may have said that he was giving Credence a chance to be part of the magical world, but Credence was fairly certain there wasn’t much difference between a magical brothel and a mundane one.

The door behind him was heavy, and had been locked using magic of some kind. He’d seen one of his captor’s take out a wand and whisper a word, and he hadn’t even felt the faintest shadow of excitement at it. Only a dull, hollow sort of longing.

At the very least the basement was warm. There was a furnace merrily burning away, and there were no windows for the heat to escape from. If the lights had been less dim, the smell been less stale, then it might have even been pleasant.

As it was, Credence could do no more than stand at the top of the rickety, wooden stairs, and stare into the gloom. Hopelessness coiled around him, the same way it did when Ma held her hand out and he knew he wouldn’t resist. He wasn’t sure which hurt worse.

“Hello?” Called a voice. Credence started in surprise, and found himself looking down at a man he could barely see.

He was wearing simple clothing, a thin dress shirt and trousers that wouldn’t help much in the cold. His hair was red, that much was obvious even in the gloom, and it shone like a candle flame. Credence stumbled down a step, and had to catch himself on the wall.

“Oh, you poor thing,” said the man. His voice was remarkably soothing. “Come along now, there’s no need to be afraid.”

Credence wanted to disagree with him, but the words were caught in the tightness of his throat. Instead he made his way down the rest of the stairs, moving so slowly that he was surprised the man didn’t try to hurry him. He only whispered encouraging things, “There you go,” and “Easy does it.” Like Credence was a creature to be soothed.

When he stood beside the man he realized he was trembling, but couldn’t bring himself to get any closer. The man betrayed his expectations again when he let Credence keep his distance. “I’m Newt Scamander,” he said, a small smile on his face. “What’s your name?”

“Credence,” he said. “Credence… Barebone.” It was strange, but he found he didn’t want to say his last name. Like somehow his Ma’s influence would make the whole thing worse.

“Alright, Credence,” Newt said easily, as though this was totally normal. “Come here, sit down with me. I can’t offer you any tea, I’m afraid.”

_Of course he would want tea,_ Credence thought dazedly as Newt led him with a gentle grip on his arm. _He’s British._ It didn’t occur to Credence to wonder why someone with a British accent was in a basement in New York until they were both sitting on the edge of a creaky bed, thin mattress similar to his one at home.

Except that Credence didn’t have a home anymore. He’d given all his trust to Mr. Graves, even left Modesty behind during his grand escape, and for what?

For the first time since Mr. Graves had handed him off to the other wizards, Credence could feel his eyes burning with tears. The sobs that broke through his chest shook his whole frame, and he flinched away when Newt tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders. The warmth felt good, felt like comfort, and the last time Credence had anything good it’d turned out to be a _lie._

His tears felt like they would last forever. Credence dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, held his breath between desperate heaves for air because it was the only way he knew to stop himself from hyperventilating. He thought Newt might have been talking, but he wasn’t sure.

A long time later, when his breathing was easier if not exactly easy, Newt nudged him gently. He was careful not to put too much pressure on Credence or touch him for too long, and Credence was shamefully glad. A kind touch might make him cry again. “Letting it all out is good,” Newt said gently. “Holding in your tears won’t help in the slightest.”

“I’m - I’m sorry,” Credence stuttered. “I don’t mean to, to make you uncomfortable at all, Mr. Scamander.”

“Call me Newt,” he said. There was a cautious smile on his face, but he didn’t look Credence in the eye. Credence didn’t know if that meant something or not. “And I’m not uncomfortable, don’t worry. I’m rather used to comforting upset creatures.”

“Creatures?” Credence’s mother had called him _creature_ and _beast_ before, but he didn’t think Newt meant it as an insult.

“Oh, I, ah,” Newt’s smile turned rueful. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. I was - am - a magizoologist. I study magical creatures, and on occassion care for and rehabilitate them.”

_That_ was enough that Credence could feel his bloodshot eyes widening. “W-what’s a magizoologist? You’re a wizard too?”

Now it was Newt’s turn to have his eyes go wide. “Of course, aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” Credence admitted. It was hard to swallow through the vice of his throat. But he wasn’t going to break down again, he _wasn’t._ “Do you have a wand?”

Newt blinked at the sudden change in topic, but he still answered, “I’m afraid not. They took it when they captured me, you see. Can’t have us breaking out.”

There was an awkward silence between them, after that. Credence could tell that Newt wanted to ask him more questions, but he didn’t feel able to answer them. The knowledge that they were trapped, really trapped, and that Newt probably knew exactly what was in store for them weighed heavily on Credence’s shoulders. Crying had exhausted him, and he just wanted to sleep.

Eventually, though, time ran out on Credence’s temporary reprieve. “Credence, are you a squib?” Newt sounded gently curious, but Credence couldn’t help feeling bitter at the question.

“What does that mean?” He asked, knowing that it gave away his ignorance, and unable to do anything about it.

“It means someone born to magical parents, who doesn’t have magic themselves.” Newt hesitated, then asked, “Is it called something different here?”

“I don’t know,” Credence said. He had a feeling he’d be saying that a lot. “I’m, that is to say, my Ma hates magic.”

“Hates it? Why?” Newt frowned and actually leaned away from Credence, and Credence didn’t want that to bother him.

An ugly, humorless laugh bubbled out of Credence’s chest, surprising the both of them. “She says it’s the devil’s tool to turn people to sin and vice. I guess… she was right, for once.”

“No!” Newt’s voice was surprisingly loud, and Credence flinched. He looked abashed immediately, and didn’t reach out to try to touch Credence again, but Credence still felt on-edge when he spoke anyway. “Credence, there’s nothing wrong with magic. People may use magic to do terrible things, but then, they’ll use just about anything.”

Mulling that over in his mind, Credence missed the dull _creak_ from the stairs. But it was impossible to miss the voice that carried, supernaturally far, from the top. “Get ready, boy. The auction’s starting soon.”

_Auction._ Credence shivered once, and then found that he couldn’t stop. The sound of the door closing once more was covered by Newt’s gentle hushing sounds, and Credence could feel the warmth of him, so close, but not quite _there._ Credence hated everything, for a moment. He hated his fear of comfort and he hated Newt for noticing and he hated Mr. Graves for giving up on him, even if he’d deserved it.

“Little one,” Newt sighed, sounding tired and sad and understanding and awful. “I wish I could tell you it’ll be alright.”

And Credence wanted that too. He wanted to be alright. He wanted to hear Newt call him “little one” again and have it be the truth. But he had an adult’s body, and it was about to be _used_ for adult entertainment. If there was a God, he would at least make the man about to hurt Credence pay dearly for his actions.

Then Credence realized that the man could be _paying_ already, and his shaking stilled. He was good at facing eminent pain.

Newt didn’t seem to trust that Credence was truly calm even when he was still, but he also seemed to feel time pressing on him as a physical force. “Do you know what’s going to happen?” He asked Credence, the words careful.

“The man who bought me will give me to the highest bidder,” Credence said dully. Newt waited, but when Credence said no more, he looked sad again.

“Do you need help, getting ready? It will make this easier.”

Blinking at the offer, Credence was left staring mutely at Newt. It didn’t take very long before the man was squirming in discomfort. “Trust me on this,” he said. “I’m not, er, trying to make you uncomfortable, or anything. I just - it can be hard.”

“What…” Credence had to cough before he could speak without his voice cracking again. “What should I do? To get ready?”

To his utter shock, Newt _teared up._ “You haven’t done this before, have you?”

“Had s-sex? No.” Credence allowed his eyes to slide shut, felt something like shame well up in him. He wished he had, now. Even if it would’ve made Mr. Graves’ rejection worse in the end. At least he would’ve had someone he loved, his first time.

Before Credence could spiral into another fit of misery, Newt took a deep breath. “Alright, come with me.” He stood and led the way to an empty doorway, the only part of the basement that was walled off. He flicked the light on, revealing a dingy bathroom with a cluttered countertop and tarnished fixtures.

“Sit here, that’s it,” Newt coaxed. “We’ll get you sorted.”

At a loss as to what else he could do, Credence obediently sat on the closed toilet. Newt sorted through the jars and bottles on the counter, and finally kneeled in front of him with two handfuls of cosmetics Credence didn’t know how to put on. “Do you want me to do this for you, or to guide you?”

He considered the question, but he knew he wouldn’t do as good a job as Newt would. “Please, Mr. Scamander, could you do it?”

Gently, Newt said, “Call me Newt, Credence. We’re in the same boat, might as well treat each other like friends.”

Fingers smeared in pale cream came up to touch his cheeks, and it was so odd that Credence almost didn’t register the use of the word _friend._ But he _did_ notice it, and so he was left gaping at Newt as he carefully applied cosmetics to Credence’s face. He had a little furrow in his brow, and bit his lip periodically in concentration.

“I’ve never done this for someone else before,” Newt muttered. “I’ve barely gotten used to it myself, truth be told. Close your eyes, please.”

Obediently doing as he was told, Credence tried to keep his breathing even while Newt touched him gently. He didn’t allow himself to lean into it the way he always had with Mr. Graves. He simply clenched his fists in his lap and tried to turn his brain off.

When it was done his face felt heavy, and Newt gave him a sad smile as his eyes opened. “You’d best take off as much as you can bear,” Newt said. “They won’t hesitate to vanish or rip your clothes.”

_Vanish?_ What an odd choice of words. And so much easier to focus on than the implication, the undeniable truth of what was coming.

Shame was hot coals in Credence’s belly as he stripped off his outer layers of clothing, leaving him in nothing but his undershirt and boxers. He felt awkward and gawky and not the least bit attractive, but some kind of morbid curiosity drew his eyes towards the mirror above the sink. At the last moment Newt caught his face with careful hands, and held his eyes with an uncompromising gaze.

“You don’t want to look,” he promised.

Numbly, Credence nodded. Newt dropped his hands immediately, trusting that Credence would continue to be as obedient as before. It burned that he was right.

“I would offer to prepare you properly, but I’m not sure if it would make the whole ordeal worse, in this case.” Newt was looking at the ground again, and Credence didn’t understand his expression.

“Prepare me?” Credence knew he sounded odd, but wasn’t sure what was wrong with his voice. In the absence of dread, his chest felt hollow.

A _slam_ from up the stairs drowned out Newt’s response, but it couldn’t cover the despair on his face.

“Come on up, baby!” Shouted a mocking voice. “Best not dawdle, your _client’s_ already feeling a bit impatient. Isn’t that right?”

Raucous laughter drifted down the stairs, and something dark curled in Credence’s gut. Was he going to have to walk upstairs, looking like this? Was he going to have to pass people, and let them _see?_

But Newt nudged his shoulder gently, and then he didn’t have another chance to think about it. He was walking up the stairs on legs that felt full of cement, towards a figure silhouetted by the light pouring down on him. He thought, strangely, that hell was _above_ him, instead of below, and if his Ma had been wrong about that she may have been wrong about more.

Unyielding hands grabbed him by the upper arms, four of them, and Credence wondered where the other man had come from. Were they servants? Were they friends of the man who owned him? Were they here for the auction, and had simply not paid enough to win his first night?

Then one gripped his short, silky hair, harsh and unforgiving the way Ma did it when she wanted to force him to look at her. His head was yanked up, and he caught sight of the _client._

All things considered, he could have been worse. He wasn’t remarkably handsome, nor was he remarkably ugly. His hair and eyes were nearly the exact same shade of sandy brown. He looked forgettable, the sort of man who had walked past Credence on the street a thousand times, and always avoided looking him in the eyes or taking his pamphlets.

Now, he stared directly at Credence and licked his lips, grinned in a way that wasn’t benign or unassuming at all. “Come with me,” he said.

It sounded nothing at all like Newt had, and not only because this man had an American accent.

They must have passed other people when they walked to the lavishly appointed bedroom, but Credence couldn’t be sure. He heard sounds, sensed movement, but he felt it as being surrounded by predators. He was used to crowds, even angry ones, but this was different. Uglier.

Only moments after the last cheer was muffled behind the bedroom door, Credence’s client was giving him an appraising look and waving his wand. Suddenly Credence’s clothing was _gone,_ as if it’d never existed in the first place. He shivered in the open air, went to wrap his arms around himself as if he could ever cover enough of his own body to be comfortable.

“None of that,” he said. “Petrificus totalus.” Credence found his arms glued to his sides and his legs glued together, his mouth locked shut so he couldn’t even make a panicked noise.

“Wingardium leviosa.” And Credence was floating, and it should have been miraculous, he wanted it to be, but he was being set on a bed and felt his body as a frozen, ugly, naked thing, and he wished magic had been a lie after all. “Finite incantatem.”

His body was free, and he nearly jerked into a sitting position before the man caught him by the wrists and pinned him back to the bed. Credence found himself subsiding quickly and _hated_ it. “How about you call me Sir, eh kid? Do it, and I’ll be nicer to you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Credence’s voice was small, but the words felt mechanical.

“There’s a good boy! Now spread your legs, just like that.”

Why was he doing as he was told? He’d rebelled against his Ma. He could rebel here. He _could._

Except he’d never done anything except what his Ma said as long as she could see him. With those dark eyes aimed elsewhere, he could find the courage to break the rules, to do what was right instead of what was ordered. When she looked at him, expectations clear if unpleasant…

Something slick and slender pressed at his ass, and Credence yelped. He hadn’t noticed the man - Sir - inching closer, hadn’t noticed him grabbing something to wet his finger with. Credence felt as though he was losing time, like he did when he was particularly angry. For a moment, he wished for that anger to carry him through this.

But there was nothing. Only a body hovering over him, still clothed, staring down at his cosmetics-covered face.

The finger wormed its way inside him, disgusting and horrible. Credence had fantasized, before; he knew the abstracts of sodomy, and Mr. Graves had been ever so strong and solid and _thick._ Thus far, though, this was nothing like his guilty dreams and hopes. It was just misery, tears welling in his eyes.

And then it was also the _crack_ of a hand across his cheek, open palmed like his Ma, and Credence wondered at how these people could remind him so much of her. “None of that, now,” Sir admonished. “I didn’t pay to have you lie there like a dead body. I could get that for free.”

Horror drew a choked sob from Credence’s throat, and the man hummed quietly and curled his finger. It was the only point of contact between them, and Credence wasn’t sure if he liked it. “Better, but I’d prefer some enthusiasm.”

“Y-yes Sir,” Credence managed to stutter. He shakily moved his hips into the thrusting of the man’s finger, but only got a dissatisfied sound as a result.

“Boring,” the man admonished. Credence felt himself flush in shame, and tried to draw a hand up to cover his eyes.

This time he got fingers around his throat, stilling him just with the threat of his air being cut off. Strangely, that touch was better than anything else that had happened so far. It grounded him, let him focus on his goal. _Don’t anger Sir. Don’t give him a reason to choke you._

“That’s it,” he said, when Credence hesitantly imitated the moaning sounds he’d heard from women in darkened alleys. “There you go.” He pulled his finger out and then did something else, something Credence couldn’t see because the hand holding down his neck kept him from raising his head.

There was something nudging between his legs. Thicker than that finger, blunter, and Credence swallowed hard. He felt his adam’s apple bob against Sir’s fingers, and tried to take some comfort from it. Whatever he could.

Pressing down suddenly, the man captured Credence’s lips with his own. He licked and bit and didn’t seem to expect much more than Credence opening his mouth and enduring it, which was good because Credence didn’t have the slightest idea how to kiss. Then he gripped Credence’s hip and thrust, and a sound ripped from Credence that might have been a scream.

It was fire, it was a blade cleaving him in half, it was an avenging angel come to rip his soul from him. Every one of Credence’s muscles clamped down, and the man didn’t care, groaned all pleased and delighted as he bullied his way inside. The drag was so intense it felt like he was going to pull Credence’s intestines from his body.

“Please, please, please, please,” Credence chanted, broken, over and over. The man grinned wolfishly.

“Yeah, I know what you need,” he sneered.

Pistoning his hips, fucking him hard and fast like Credence had seen but never felt, the man drew more wounded sounds from Credence’s throat. It was awful, he wanted it over but he didn’t want the rush, the way he was overwhelmed, the sickness rising in his throat. He was chanting something new, and it took him a minute to realize it was “No, no, no.”

“Shut your _mouth!”_ Sir squeezed Credence’s throat on the last word, cut off his voice and left his mouth gaping. There was an instant where Credence considered reaching up and tearing the grip away, where he felt certain this man could kill him and not care.

Then it simply fell away.

Blackness crept in on the edges of his vision, his hands went limp at his sides, his spine relaxed out of its arch. It was as though every single horrible thing running through his head went blessedly _still._ His ears were ringing, Sir was speaking, and Credence didn’t even care.

Every inch of his body still hurt, but he could notice things beyond the pain now. Things like his soft cock bouncing with each thrust, the slow build of pressure that would bloom into a headache when he got air again. The burning in his chest and eyes, almost pleasurable now that he’d surrendered to it.

Sir released his throat, and Credence coughed violently. That moment of peace slid away from him like water through his fingers, as if it had never been.

“What did I tell you, whore? Move!”

Raising his arms, ignoring the screaming muscles, Credence wrapped his gangly limbs around Sir. They were pressed together all down their torsos now, from collarbone to the place where Sir was inside him. Credence felt queasy.

Whether or not he wanted to, Credence could feel his body getting aroused the longer it went. Sir eventually gripped his cock punishingly to jerk him off, and it made the sounds spilling from Credence’s throat infinitely more sincere. No one had ever touched him there, and even with his emotions in turmoil the simple _feeling_ was overwhelming.

Sir (and Credence wasn’t sure why he thought of him like that, with his title as a name, but it was better than nothing and he needed _something_ to grasp onto) took a long time to come. So long Credence finished first, streaking his flat belly with sticky stripes. So long that his body relaxed and then tensed again, overstimulated and wrung out.

Still, he was expected to act as though he enjoyed it. And Credence, cursing everything he was, tried. He couldn’t kill the feeling that maybe cooperating would make everything easier.

When Sir came it was sudden and over quickly. He seemed dissatisfied with Credence, gave him an unamused look when Credence collapsed to the bed after he pulled out. Blood and come oozed from Credence’s body, making him shiver in disgust.

“Well?” Sir said after a pause. “Aren’t you going to go back to your room?”

“M-my room?” Credence knew his eyes were glazed and his cheeks were tear stained. In all likelihood, his makeup had been ruined. The thought was oddly saddening.

“Don’t be dense, the room you share with the other harlot. Now, off you go.”

With a shooing gesture like what Credence might use to get birds out of the church, Sir ushered him from the bedroom. Credence made his way on trembling, numb legs, and didn’t think of his nudity until silence suddenly fell and made him aware that there had been conversations going on.

Eyes fell on him, too many pairs for Credence to care to count. He ducked his head, looked straight at the floor, and tried to make his way down the hallway - where he vaguely remembered the basement being. He didn’t make it very far before the same jeering man who had taken him from Newt grabbed him again to direct him.

As soon as Credence was out of sight, tittering filled the air. Irritating laughter like nasty kids who would tease Modesty. Credence didn’t have the energy to hate the sound.

Being shoved through the door to the basement was horribly familiar. It couldn’t have been more than a half a day since Credence had first been bought, and it felt like not enough time at all for his whole life to be ruined.

“Credence?” Called a voice from below. Newt.

“Oh!” The exclamation was loud, and then Newt was running up the stairs. Credence tried to step forward, to make it easier for him, shorten the distance, but - 

Feet catching on the stair, a warm body pressed to his front _again,_ and then nothing but air.

They fell in a tangled heap at the base of the stairs, Newt groaning something pained and worried. Worried? Credence’s mind was working strangely again. It was too much, the whole day had been too much. The whole _month._ His hands still ached when he flexed his fingers.

Rage found him, coming from the deep place inside himself that he’d wished for before. He would have welcomed it with opened arms, but Newt was making progressively alarmed sounds. Credence didn’t want to hurt Newt. Newt hadn’t hurt him.

“Credence, Credence please, I need you to get off of me, I need to check your wounds,” Newt spoke rapid-fire. He sounded afraid.

Moving as quickly as his wrought body could manage, Credence climbed off of Newt. He was shaking like a leaf, and he wanted to ask Newt where his clothes were. He stayed silent, though, as Newt stared at him with eyes that seemed to get wider and wider, and not at the bruising on his throat.

“Credence,” Newt said. Why was he saying his name so often? “You wouldn’t happen to know what an Obscurial is, would you?”


	2. Learning Curve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know Grindelwald used a spell and not polyjuice to impersonate Graves. I don’t care. This is already AU as hell I can do what I want \o/
> 
> The noncon scene is a bit harder to skip in this chapter - there’s an interruption in the middle that’s plot important. So, you have two choices! Either skip the entire scene, or read the bit in the middle (which still contains some violence). For the first option, just stop at the first indicated quote and start at the last.
> 
> For the second, stop at “under his own skin,” start again at “All of a sudden,” then stop at “Maybe you didn’t,” and pick back up at “Dazed as he was.”
> 
> The sex scene contains spanking and the comfort scene after contains blanket cuddles. It took way longer to write than I’d hoped, but hopefully it was worth the wait!!

As Credence serviced clients, he listed the rules he’d come up with for his new life. There were always rules. When he’d lived with Ma, the rules had been well-worn and easy to work around. It was harder now, but Credence picked up on them fast.

The first rule was not to think about the past. He didn’t think about Modesty, didn’t wonder about how she was holding up with Chastity and Ma focusing their attentions on her. He didn’t think about Mr. Graves handing him over to a stranger quickly, efficiently, as though Credence was one more chore to get out of the way so he could do more important things.

The second rule was that he could ask Mr. Scamander about _his_ past, but only if he was careful. Newt loved talking about his creatures, and Credence loved hearing about them. They made him feel that same sense of wonder that magic had given him back when he first met Mr. Graves.

But if he asked about other things, Newt’s family or his travels or the names of the creatures he’d saved, then…

Credence shivered, to remember the way Newt’s eyes could go dark. Sometimes he seemed barely present, like he was trapped in a memory he couldn’t bear. When it lasted too long, Credence would touch him lightly on the shoulder, too afraid to try to shake him out of it.

Third was the rule that Credence couldn’t enjoy himself. Certainly he couldn’t help the physical reactions clients sometimes wrung out of him, but he could do his level best to ignore them. He wasn’t allowed to bask in the feelings. He couldn’t risk it.

He learned that one the hard way. Clients who took him slowly and gently were difficult because they clouded his mind with arousal and made it hard to concentrate. Clients who cursed and humiliated him were difficult because Credence found it hard to do much more than curl up and cry at the treatment.

Clients who did both, though, they were the worst. Clients who could take Credence roughly but offer praise freely, clients who looked at Credence as though he was a feast they were ready to _eat._ Because those he enjoyed, truly _enjoyed._

And no matter how good it was at the time, the shame burned like acid in his belly afterwards.

It was the one thing he thought Newt couldn’t understand. Newt helped him so much, taught him to stretch himself in a way that wasn’t too horribly embarrassing (and that was another rule; keep yourself stretched), taught him to do his own face up and act appealingly.

Through it all, Newt made it clear that he hated every second. He was always kind and soft with Credence, but there was something cracked through in Newt that Credence didn’t know how to sooth. It made it impossible for Credence to admit that he snuck looks in the mirror and _liked_ the cosmetics on his face. That he wanted more of the pleasure pain he was sometimes given.

Yes, stopping himself from enjoying it at all may have been the most important rule.

Fourth was not to question it too much. Because it was hard, oh it was hard, but at the end of the day it wasn’t much harder than living with Ma.

What did it say about Credence, that he could handle this all so easily?

Fifth was the newest rule. For the first week, Credence hadn’t even imagined that it could be necessary. The world was a haze of going up and down those terrible stairs, patching up small wounds and waiting to be called again. He learned the names of the two manservants who always summoned him (Robert and James). He learned more about sex than he’d known there was to learn.

But then things had slowed down. Credence had time to be calm, Newt had time to talk to him. Life moved on.

And the horrid void Mr. Graves had left in his heart was slowly filled by red hair and freckles faded from lack of sunlight. By awkwardness that almost matched Credence’s, but was endearing instead of grating.

So fifth was the rule to never think about Newt when Credence was servicing clients. No matter how much easier it could make things, Credence couldn’t do it. Newt may be more experienced than Credence, but there was something inside of him which was _good._ Something Credence didn’t want to sully with his feelings.

(Sometimes he thought that maybe, if he’d controlled his emotions around Mr. Graves, he wouldn’t have been thrown away.)

Sixth was the easiest rule to follow: keep Pickett a secret. Credence had met the little thing the first night, and it had been _marvelous._

“Here,” Newt had said, when Credence had laid in darkness for an hour and been unable to fall asleep. “I have a secret to show you.”

Limbs weak with fatigue, Credence had dragged himself to the corner Newt indicated. It was nearly pitch black with the lights out. His eyes had felt crusty.

A tiny movement had drawn his eye to Newt’s hand, and then he’d seen it. Something small and fragile. Something _magic._

“He’s a bowtruckle,” Newt whispered. “They look after trees, keep them healthy.”

Black eyes smaller than teardrops had looked up at Credence. And something settled within him, and Credence remembered why he’d so wanted magic in the first place. Why it might be a good thing, that he was an Obscurial, even if Newt said it was also dangerous.

It was exactly the sort of thing that made rule five harder to follow. Considering what they were about to do, it was only going to get worse. Because, for the first time, they’d been hired to do things _together._

After his first night, Credence had thought nothing could make him feel dirtier. But they’d barely begun, and he already wanted to claw the filth from under his own skin.

They were in a different room than usual, one large enough to fit a group. There were five men above them, and he and Newt knelt on the rug, wearing lacy underthings that pinched and made Credence want to shift in discomfort. He couldn’t look at Newt, could barely look at the men looming over them both.

“Hey there pretty thing,” said one, nudging Newt with his boot. “You think you can distract your friend there? He looks a bit tense.”

Someone chuckled, and Credence kept his eyes on the ground. The five of them were so _big._ They’d taken off their shirts, but their pants still bulged around their muscles. They were obviously some kind of laborers, had teamed up together to afford Newt and Credence.

Distracting himself by thinking of irrelevant things made it marginally easier to follow Newt’s lead. A hand rested under his chin, coaxed his head to the side. Newt only used his fingertips, knowing that touch could be difficult, but Credence moved like Newt had a much firmer grip on him. Like he had no choice.

Newt’s lips were so soft on his that Credence had to fist his hands to keep from reaching out for Newt. He mustn’t presume to touch.

“That one’s got a mouth made for fucking,” muttered a man. “I want it.”

“Greedy,” said another. He sounded amused. “I’ll take him after you.”

Kissing Newt made the words not matter. Credence didn’t worry about which one they were talking about. He only worried about tilting his head right, keeping his lips responsive. He didn’t have much practice at this yet.

Tongue flicking out to tease Credence’s mouth, Newt hummed softly. And even though Credence was trying to follow his rules, he could feel himself hardening.

As if he hadn’t done this half a hundred times already, Credence felt humiliation rise in his belly, and his face flamed hot. That same voice chuckled again.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Newt was pulled back by a hand on his shoulder, so suddenly he made a startled noise. He started to tilt his head up, only to have something come down over his face. Credence blinked, uncomprehending for a moment.

A blindfold. Newt touched his own face, the broad stripe of dark blue fabric cutting across it. It matched his lingerie, and Credence covered his eyes before he could think better of it. Newt was too gorgeous.

Cooing mockingly, someone said, “Look, he’s shy.” Credence was pulled to his feet, hands clutching first at his arms, then at his ass. He made a soft, surprised sound, and got a smack straight over his ass for it. “Hush now, don’t make any noise.”

“There’s an idea,” one dragged Newt up, a considering look on his bearded face. “Kiss each of us, see if you can tell who your shy friend is.”

He knotted his hand in Newt’s hair, dragged him from one mouth to another. The men didn’t kiss like Credence had, not in the slightest. They thrust their tongues into Newt’s mouth, moved them back and forth as though they were demonstrating what their cocks would do later. Credence looked away again, but then a voice whispered into his ear.

_”Kiss him like we do. If you don’t follow orders, you’ll get punished.”_

Credence bit his tongue to keep from making a sound. The man was still groping his ass. Newt was getting closer to him with each second, being directed by the fist clenched around that red, red hair. He didn’t know if he could do it.

Of course, he didn’t have a choice. Newt’s head was less than an inch from his own, a thumb was pressing into the crease between his cheeks, and Credence was-- he wasn’t going to break the rule. He _wasn’t._

Closing his eyes tightly, he dove forward. It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. Newt yielded, let him move his tongue as he wanted.

Surprisingly, he didn’t like it very much at all. His blush had died down a bit when he pulled back, even with a hand still on his ass. A piece of Credence bristled at the filthiness of it all, but after more than a week here that piece was buried deep.

“So? Which one’s the boy?” Newt’s hands twitched fretfully at his sides, his teeth bit at his kiss-swollen lips.

“The… the last one.” The brunet holding Newt’s hair gentled his grip, petting him in reward as if he were a dog. Newt didn’t relax into it at all.

“Aw, does that mean we’re gonna punish Credence?” He jerked at the sound of his name; clients rarely used it, and it was jarring to hear like this. “Guess he didn’t do a good enough job, eh?”

“Please!” Newt wrenched away from the man holding him up. “No, I - I was just lucky.”

Shock made Credence’s eyes wide, locked his muscles in place until he didn’t think he could move. He wanted to say, _it’s alright._ He wanted to tell Newt that he was used to the rough treatment, even if he wouldn’t let himself enjoy it.

Newt cried out when he was backhanded across the face, and Credence couldn’t say a single word.

They pushed Credence towards the bed, so that he couldn’t see Newt anymore. It made the whole thing harder, and he closed his eyes, figuring that he might as well not see _anything._ Might as well pretend that he was blindfolded like Newt, even as he could feel himself being bent over, stockinged toes curling in the rug.

There was a moment where Credence felt deja vu. Waiting for a strike was always the same, even though with Ma it had been worse. Here, he had someone defending him, even if it didn’t make a bit of difference in the end. “How many strikes d’you think he earned?”

“Ten?” At least they were getting something from this.

“Twenty!” At least they were speaking; Ma’s silence had been terrible.

“We don’t wanna break him, we’ve got him all night.” At least they cared, in a twisted way.

“I say we keep the blindfold on the pretty one. Keep him guessing for a while.” _At least Newt was there._

His stomach turned and he thought he’d be sick. The silky women’s underclothes he was wearing wouldn’t be much protection, and the men were strong. He braced himself for it to hurt.

And it _did._ “One!” Shouted someone right behind him, and then there was a loud _smack_ against his skin. It was a moment before the pain sank into him, and he held his breath until it was forced out of him in a rush.

Counting seemed to be too much work for them, though, because no one bothered keeping track after that. They didn’t keep up a steady rhythm either, breaking to banter amongst themselves between smacks. It was that which drew the tears to Credence’s eyes; the feeling that he was unimportant, a secondary amusement.

Either Newt caught Credence’s quiet sobbing, or something had happened to him, because he said, “Please!” Loud enough to tear a hole in Credence’s heart. He clutched at the blankets in front of him, rucking them up from the bed.

His ass tingled under the strikes now, driven past burning and into something near numbness. He’d be black and blue because of this, he knew. But the way he’d been pressed to the bed kept them from seeing that he was still hard, and Newt was blindfolded anyway, so things weren’t as bad as they could’ve been.

All of a sudden, the door opened in front of him. Credence rose bleary eyes, tried to see who was coming in. More people from the same group? The man spanking him wasn’t perturbed, and laid down another blow without hesitating.

Just in time for Credence to gasp in recognition, because in front of him was _Mr. Graves._

“He’s earning his keep, I see,” he said. He sounded as calm and soft as always. Credence wrenched his eyes shut, jerked hard when he was smacked again.

From Graves’ side came a voice Credence had only heard once before. “Oh yes. He’s remarkably obedient,” said William Kegley, the man who owned Credence. He was blonde and thin as a whip and looked like he’d never worked a day in his life. Credence was never sure why he didn’t sample his own goods.

“Perhaps I’ll see what you’ve taught him, later.” Graves sounded mildly curious. He didn’t sound like the man who had offered Credence healing, gentleness, _magic._

A blow harder than the others rocked Credence’s frame abruptly. “Oy, we payed for him! We’re fine with you watching, but wait your _turn.”_

“Trust me,” cooed Mr. Graves. It was the same tone Credence had always craved, and now it burned like acid in his throat. “I’m in no rush to have him. In fact, I’m afraid I’ll be leaving soon. Though this has been a diverting sight.”

“M-m-mister -” Credence stuttered, unsure of what to say, and then bit his tongue hard when the hand came down again. It was humiliating, but the thought of Mr. Graves leaving after saying _that_ was worse.

Something like interest flickered in Graves’ eyes as he stared down at Credence. It was enough that Credence didn’t notice something was wrong, until Kegley said, “My lord, your hair.”

Absentmindedly, Mr. Graves touched the side of his head. Credence blinked the tears out of his eyes, trying to see what was happening.

Was Graves’ hair turning white? And his eyes, what - 

“Thank you, Kegley,” Graves said smoothly. He pulled something from inside his coat, held it to his lips and swallowed. And Credence _wasn’t_ imagining it, was he? It wasn’t just the tears making everything harder to see?

“We’ll be off then,” Mr. Graves said. He was back to looking cold, unaffected, normal. “You gentlemen enjoy your evening.”

With that, he closed the door. As if it could ever be so simple. As if Credence had never mattered in the first place.

_Maybe you didn’t,_ whispered something dark. _Maybe nothing you do matters anyway, and you should punish him for hurting you the same way he punished you for not finding the child._

Anger boiled inside him, dark and hideous. But Newt had taught him breathing exercises, and Newt was right behind him. Credence couldn’t risk Newt.

As though to drive the point home, Credence heard a choking sound from behind him. He bucked, realized that the attention had been off of him for some time. Which meant, most likely, that Newt was being _used._ And oh, that _burned_ like the anger did.

“Hah, think he wants to watch?”

“Don’t care if he does, it’s my turn with him!”

“Alright, alright,” someone said good-naturedly as he handed Credence over.

Feeling like a toy, Credence went. When he saw Newt on the floor, three fingers up his ass and his teeth biting into his fist to keep himself quiet, he couldn’t help but flush. Newt looked nice in powder-blue lingerie, and Credence was horrible for noticing.

Noticing how Newt looked was easier than noticing the hand on the back of Credence’s head, encouraging him downwards. His knees hit the ground gracelessly, and then he had to raise his hands up to brace himself on solid thighs. He couldn’t see Newt anymore, with a cock blocking his vision. So Credence closed his eyes as he heard, “I’ve been _waiting_ for this.”

“Nothing quite like a set of pretty lips to bruise, eh?” The hand in Credence’s hair pushed him forwards, stopped him from trying to tease the shaft.

That tempting, floaty feeling was on the edges of Credence’s mind. He stomped it down as hard as he could, opened his mouth and took the head of the man’s cock in. “Damn straight,” the man replied. He sounded almost feral, and Credence knew he’d see a wide grin if he looked up.

So he kept his eyes closed, and felt the weight of a dick stretching his jaw, and focused on covering his teeth with his lips. Credence hadn’t had much of a gag reflex even before coming here, thanks to the disgusting food he’d sometimes been forced to choke down. It made the glide from tip to root easy, and made the client groan appreciatively.

Credence fell into the rhythm of it, let his shoulders relax steadily when the man didn’t move to fuck his face violently. It was one of the easier things clients asked of him, and it left his mind free to wander. To pick up the sounds Newt was making.

Weak, hiccuping sounds. Were they hurting him? Credence had a mental image of Newt being spanked the way he had been, and was surprised to find he didn’t like it at all. Newt was so sweet, so gentle, Credence didn’t think he could ever deserve a spanking.

_”You don’t deserve violence either, Credence,”_ Newt had said days ago. Credence quietly disagreed.

It wasn’t even a matter of deserving it, though. Credence was wrong inside, twisted up so he liked the pain sometimes. He couldn’t imagine Newt being like him.

More than anything, Credence wanted Newt to be happy. And since he couldn’t keep Newt safe from this, he wished Newt could at least derive _something_ from it.

Judging by the sounds Newt was making, the only thing he was getting at the moment was misery. It was strange, because Credence had expected him to be more professional, based on his guidance. He’d expected Newt to fake enthusiasm the way Credence often did. But no, Newt sounded like he might be crying. Was that what the client wanted? Or was Newt too honest to play the part?

With no warning at all, the cock currently buried in Credence’s throat suddenly spurted come. He coughed and sputtered, but the gentle grip at the back of his neck had hardened and he couldn’t move away. He had to choke it down, all but the dribble that escaped the seal of his lips.

From across the room, Newt cried out, “Credence!” His voice cut off after a dull _thump_ of impact, and Credence frantically tried to pull far enough from the man who’d just finished with him in order to see what had happened. Were they hitting Newt? Was he being punished for his concern? Being so unsure was a hot coal in Credence’s belly.

This was so much worse than he’d been afraid of. Already there was another client blocking his view, and all he’d gotten was a quick glimpse of Newt with his face being pushed into the carpet as a man fucked him with quick, rough movements. He was still wearing his lingerie, but the panties had been pulled to the side to allow easy access.

“Don’t forget about me darling,” cooed someone. A blunt cock head pressed to Credence’s lips, smeared spit and precome liberally. Credence looked up blearily, miserably, and saw a crooked nose and green eyes.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Credence opened his mouth again. He could do this.

It was harder this time, though. Instead of directing Credence’s head the man chose to smack his cheeks with his thick cock, and humiliation made Credence want to cry again.

_If I let my nose stuff up, I won’t be able to do a good job,_ he reminded himself. Credence was merciless inside his own head. If he let himself wallow in self-pity, the treatment would only hurt worse. Credence had handled worse. He could do it.

Except that he’d never handled it with Newt in the room, and he couldn’t tear his awareness away from whatever was happening to him.

Keeping track of both Newt and the cock Credence laved his tongue over was difficult enough already, but when a pair of calloused hands gripped his aching ass and forced it up he nearly keened in frustration. How could they expect him to manage this?

Luckily, as soon as fingers started roughly opening Credence (unnecessary, because he’d done it himself, but appreciated nonetheless), the man in front of him pulled away to jerk himself off. He came quickly, splattering Credence’s face and ruining his hair. It was a relief, despite the sticky, tacky feeling.

He relaxed in increments, until he was in the same position he’d last seen Newt in. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, his limbs slow and tired. But when a hand at his hip encouraged him to rock back into the fingers filling him, he tried his best to play along.

His cock was still hard. It had been left unattended for so long that it throbbed periodically, and he was almost certain his underwear was stained with precome. He didn’t care.

Careful fingers cupped his chin, and he lifted his head, expecting to see one of the clients. Instead he saw Newt, his face flushed and sweaty but surprisingly devoid of tear tracks. The blindfold had been pulled down so that it hung loose around his neck, and he stroked Credence’s cheek as though seeing him like this was painful.

Shuddering so hard it was almost a convulsion, Credence made a pleading sound. He didn’t know what he was asking for. He didn’t know if he should push into Newt or pull away.

Deep inside him, fingers curled. Deep inside him, his feelings cracked down the middle. He’d just seen Graves again, and now he was looking at Newt, close enough to count his faint freckles.

When the clients started jeering at Newt to kiss him again, Credence didn’t even notice. He barely had the presence of mind to notice the fingers pulling out and being replaced by a dick. But he saw the way Newt had to force himself to bend down, the hesitation written into every line of his body.

Despite himself, Credence melted into it. All of it, the rocking of his hips and the fullness inside him and Newt’s mouth against his. Credence came with a cry that muffled into Newt’s mouth, and felt the surprised jerk Newt gave at that.

Dazed as he was, he missed the end of it. All he knew was that eventually, Newt helped support him while one of the manservants led them back downstairs. He thought it was James, who was quieter and didn’t mock them as much, but he couldn’t be sure.

It was almost as though Credence’s mind was trying to hide from what had just happened. But hiding felt too good, too much like indulgence, so he pulled himself back together when they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll go clean myself up,” he muttered. Hearing his own, wrecked voice made him wince, and he pulled away before Newt could comment. The last thing he saw as he closed the bathroom door was the lost way Newt stared at him. As if he didn’t have the first clue what to say to Credence.

Well, that made two of them.

Cleaning himself up took nearly no time at all. Ma had always made them be sparing with water, and living here had only reinforced that taking his time wasn’t often an option.

With his cheeks and insides wiped until they felt raw, though, Credence had to leave the bathroom again. And he just wasn’t sure he could look Newt in the eye.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to. They were both rather good at avoiding eye contact.

Pushing the door open carefully, Credence let his gaze sweep slowly from the floor until he caught sight of Newt’s feet. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, so Credence joined him. He kept space between the two of them, and kept his head down.

“Who…” Newt said, and then paused for so long Credence thought he wasn’t going to ask after all. But no, he wouldn’t be that lucky. “Who was it, who walked in? You knew him?”

“Mr. Graves,” Credence said. His voice was muted and too hoarse. “He’s the one who - who sold me, t-to Mr. Kegley.”

“Oh.” A hand touched Credence’s shoulder, there and gone again, a ghost of a touch. After their clients, it felt like barely anything at all.

They were silent for a while. Credence worried that Newt had sunk into one of those memories that gripped him with horrible talons and wouldn’t let him go, but before he could muster the strength to look up, Newt spoke again. “I was in America to bring a thunderbird to Arizona, you know.”

“A thunderbird?” Credence couldn’t stop himself from asking. He loved the tidbits Newt gave him about his creatures.

“His name is Frank,” Newt said. He sounded like he was smiling. “He’s a temperamental fellow, but more than kind enough, once you get to know him. I’m sure he’s doing just fine in the care of the women I left him with.”

It was more than Newt had ever given him before, and Credence finally, finally raised his head. Newt was looking at him with an expression Credence couldn’t place, but it wasn’t unpleasant. “I was captured because I got sidetracked,” he admitted. “I heard a rumor about the owner of this house keeping a unicorn captive. Turns out that was a euphemism for the last boy he’d bought.”

Newt gave Credence time to absorb the information, then he leaned closer. “Why did this ‘Mr. Graves’ hurt you like this, Credence?”

_I can’t tell,_ Credence almost said. _I failed him,_ he thought. But his mouth opened, and out came, “He was going to let me into the magical world if I found a child for him. A child he’s been having visions of. But I couldn’t do it fast enough, so I suppose he thought I’d be more useful making money.”

Jaw tightening, Newt looked away. Credence thought Newt was angry with his answer, but then Newt’s voice was all softness when he spoke. “What was the child like?”

“Young. Close to my mother. Powerful magically, like you said I am.”

“Oh,” Newt sounded winded. “Oh! Credence, he was looking for _you.”_

“Me? No,” Credence’s head was starting to feel fuzzy again, and he didn’t like it. “No, he couldn’t have been looking for me. He said his vision was very clear, that it was a young child.”

Shaking his head, Newt gently coaxed Credence back onto the bed properly. “I don’t know about visions, but I think he was giving you a list of traits to identify an Obscurial. He just didn’t expect you to be right under his nose.”

A blanket draped over Credence’s shoulders, and he started in surprise. When had Newt grabbed it? He was tucking in the edges, as though Credence was a much smaller child being put to bed. As he moved, he mumbled, as if to himself. “What would he want with an Obscurial, though?”

“I don’t know,” Credence answered. Newt jumped a bit, confirming Credence’s suspicion. They were both wrecks. The evening was only now sinking in.

Careful not to move quickly, Credence held open one side of the blanket. Newt hesitated for a long time, but eventually tucked himself against Credence’s side. Now that they were pressed together from shoulder to hip, Credence finally felt himself begin to warm. When had he gotten so cold?

“His hair changed color,” he whispered. Confusion clouded Newt’s face, so Credence clarified. “His hair’s usually black, but it turned blond. Then Kegley pointed it out, and he drank something, I think, and it went back to normal.”

Newt’s muscles, which had only just begun to relax, were suddenly tense as piano strings. “Polyjuice potion,” he whispered. “Credence, I don’t think your Mr. Graves is who he says he is.”


	3. Soul Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so has anyone here read _The Sacrifices Arc_ by Lightning on the Wave? It’s an old (and very long) Harry Potter AU fic.
> 
> I’m sort of… borrowing a bit of the worldbuilding for that fic, for the sake of writing wandless magic into this one. JK Rowling’s explanation of how wandless magic works in canon has never made the slightest bit of sense to me. But Sacrifices? That shit was so well explained I could write a textbook on it.
> 
> It’s not actually complicated enough to require a textbook, though, and anyway Credence doesn't know how my version of wandless magic works any better than your average Harry Potter fan does. So don't worry if you're not familiar with Sacrifices! It’s definitely not required reading, though I do recommend it ;u;
> 
> In other news, there’s no noncon scene this time. Yay!

“Take a deep breath,” Newt said gently. “You’re doing fine.”

“Accio paper,” Credence spat, because he really was sick of following orders.

Just like the last time, the paper trembled for a moment, then zipped past his head faster than his eyes could follow it. A stinging sensation trickled from his cheek, and he rose his fingers to feel thin smears of wetness. He’d given himself a papercut, _again._

Grabbing his own hair in frustration, Credence made a sound he barely recognized. Newt encouraged his anger, said it was helping fuel his magic, but he didn’t need _fuel._ He needed _control._ And he. Couldn’t. Get. It.

“Deep breaths,” Newt reminded him again. “It didn’t fly quite so far this time. You _are_ improving Credence, even if you can’t tell yet.”

“It was easier following Mr. Graves’ orders,” Credence found himself whispering. “At least he didn’t offer false reassurance.”

They both went still. Credence couldn’t even hear Newt’s breathing. “Oh - no, I’m sorry, I don’t,” he let go of his hair, stared down at the few black strands in his hands. “I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

“You’re frustrated,” Newt replied. “It’s nothing to feel bad about.”

But Newt’s voice had a fine tremor in it. Credence reminded himself to breathe according to Newt’s instructions, holding it between inhales and exhales.

If Newt said he could do it, he could do it. He’d handled his mother and Graves and many, many clients. He could use magic to grab a piece of paper.

Wheeling around, Credence repeated, “Accio paper.” He clamped down hard on his magic, and though the paper zipped into his hand and stayed there this time, he barely noticed. A shaft of pain ripped through his chest, and when he opened his eyes he was on his knees.

“That’ll be all for today, I think,” Newt murmured. He was crouched beside Credence on the floor now, though he still didn’t reach out for him. “You did well, Credence. You’ve been improving remarkably quickly.”

“Th-thank you,” he said. He breathed through the pain, waited for it to fade. It didn’t take as long this time, but it was still remarkably unpleasant.

Apparently, wandless magic was only possible for remarkably powerful or remarkably practiced wizards. Newt claimed that he was nothing special, and therefore couldn’t manage it (referring to anything magical as “nothing special” still seemed impossible to Credence, but he didn’t argue). But Credence had plenty of raw magic, if only he could learn to harness it.

If only stopping his magic from doing as it pleased didn’t _hurt_ so badly.

“Have some water, there’s a good lad,” Newt coaxed, holding out a cup for Credence to drink from. When he thought his hands wouldn’t shake too badly and spill it, Credence accepted the cup gratefully.

Newt was keeping a close eye on him. He always did, but right now he seemed more focused than usual, as if he was expecting Credence to lash out again. Credence felt sick at the thought. He shouldn’t talk to Newt like that. He was worse than their clients, because Newt was not only kind to him, but also _trusted_ him.

As his body returned to equilibrium, Credence shifted from kneeling to sitting. He felt the telltale prickle of Pickett climbing up his leg, and raised his eyes just enough to see Newt smile. He liked this much better than the magic lessons.

Strange, that something he’d wanted for so long was so unpleasant now. Especially when compared to the rest of the situation, which was not nearly as unpleasant as it should’ve been. Credence simply took it as proof that, whatever lies Graves had told, Credence being useless wasn’t one of them.

Now that Credence looked calmer, Newt risked reaching out and touching the knee Pickett wasn’t perched on. “You really are doing better than I thought you’d be,” he said. “Not just when it comes to magic. You’re very adaptable, which is especially remarkable given that your Obscurus is likely hampering your emotional stability.”

“I…” Credence winced, unsure how to respond. When Newt was talking about Obscurials, he would sometimes throw out facts that made Credence more and more sick to his stomach.

“Sorry.” Newt covered his face with one hand. “I’m not very good at this, am I? I suppose I haven’t been handling things nearly as well as you.”

“That’s not true.” Credence reached out with trembling fingers and tugged gently at Newt’s wrist. The contact was strange, but Newt smiled a bit when his hand fell away, and the warm feeling it evoked in Credence’s chest was worth it.

Looking back down at Pickett’s tiny, green body, Credence realized what he could say to comfort Newt. He didn’t _want_ to say it, but then, Newt had told him things that he hadn’t wanted to say either. Credence owed Newt. And even if he didn’t, well, he wanted Newt to be happy. As happy as he could be, in this place.

He took a deep breath, then started speaking. His voice was so quiet that Newt had to lean forward to hear him. “This place is… It’s not good for you, Newt. For me it’s. That is, it isn’t much worse than home. When I’m with Ma, every time I sin I’m punished. And if I sin so often at home, then really I don’t do it much more here. And…”

Even though he couldn’t bring himself to say any more, Newt seemed to understand. A shadow passed over his face, like a cloud hanging over the sun in the summer. Except that Newt looked too gentle to be the sun, with its overbearing heat. He was more like a fireplace, gentle and constant.

“Credence,” he said. “I might not know much about your mother’s religious practices, but I do know that you’re one of the kindest, purest people I’ve ever known. I can’t imagine you willfully doing something wrong, or - or immoral.”

The words were sweet, and Credence wanted to believe them. His whole heart ached for it, to think that he could be half of what Newt thought of him. So of course, he said, “You’re very kind, Mr. Scamander, but I do the wrong thing constantly. Like working with Mr. Graves.”

Unbelievably, Newt looked frustrated. “No, Credence, that wasn’t your fault. I don’t - alright, here, you wouldn’t blame me if I was upset and hugged you, even though you don’t like to be hugged, correct?”

 _Not entirely,_ Credence thought, but he thought he could understand what Newt was saying. He nodded, and Newt nodded back. “There, see? When you’re upset, and you’re looking for comfort, you can make honest mistakes.”

“I’m not sure if I’d call it a, ah, honest mistake,” Credence said. The comparison made his chest feel a little lighter, though. Mr. Scamander hugging him was a nice thought.

For a while, they sat in the companionable silence that was becoming more and more familiar. Credence tried to bend his thoughts away from his Ma, and back towards the present. It helped that Pickett was climbing all over him again, and the little creature was fun to poke at.

Without Newt and Pickett, the basement would’ve felt so cold, furnace or no.

“You help, you know,” Credence said softly.

“Who, Pickett?” Newt asked, sounding amused. “He does, at that. I couldn’t have handled the early days without him.”

“No, I mean,” Credence could feel a flush creeping over his skin. “Y-you. Without you, I don’t think I’d be handling anything well. I didn’t exactly do well at home, before Mr. Graves.”

It was hard to tell, but it looked like Newt might be blushing too, now. “Oh, I think you’re underestimating yourself Credence. You’re clearly very strong. I mean, even when we were in that, that - situation, you were still able to notice your Graves’ odd behavior.”

Guilt and shame made a potent cocktail at the back of Credence’s tongue. “That wasn’t strength.”

“No? Credence, when things like that are happening, I can barely think. And I’ve got an advantage of experience that you don’t -”

“Experience?” He didn’t mean to cut Newt off, but that had been so unexpected that his hands tightened into fists. Newt couldn’t possibly mean…

Now Newt was _definitely_ blushing. “There are many cultures around the world that are more accepting of - of different sorts of relationships. And I travel a lot, Credence. I hope you don’t think less of me.”

“So you,” Credence shook his head. “You’re a sodomite?”

“That’s not the word I’d use,” Newt corrected. He used the same sweet, kind tone he always did when Ma’s teachings slipped past Credence’s lips.

To his utter horror, he found that his eyes were burning. He didn’t want to cry in front of Newt, not again, not over _this._

Credence had never been able to stop himself from crying, when it came right down to it. He’d cried in front of Ma more times than he could count. At least Newt didn’t look at him like he was disgusting for it.

“I-I’ve never met someone else who, who,” again, Credence had trouble speaking. And again, Newt looked at him with kind eyes, not pitying at all.

“I rather think you have, actually. It’s more common than you’d expect. But that’s beside the point, Credence. Finding men attractive, it doesn’t make this easier. I would know. So my original point still stands, and you’re stronger than you think.”

“That’s not… Well, it is p-part of the problem, but, Mr. Scamander, I can’t - I don’t know how to explain.”

He did know, but he wasn’t going to, and Newt was looking more and more confused. Eventually they both simply sighed in accidental unison, then exchanged tired smiles.

“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree,” Newt said.

Pickett made a small squeaking sound, as if in agreement, and it was enough to soften Newt’s eyes. He scooted closer, until he and Credence were within touching distance. The proximity made Credence tense, the way it always did. But then, if Graves’ comfort had been as false as his face, then Newt’s was as honest as everything else about him.

How strange, that Credence found Newt’s inability to lie so reassuring. Strange was his entire life now. He had a little creature on his knee who looked remarkably like a fairy. If he could hold Pickett’s tiny, fragile body in his clumsy fingers, he could do this.

Reaching out with trembling fingers, Credence stroked through Newt’s hair. Newt made a small, surprised sound at the first touch, but he quickly relaxed into it.

Providing comfort like this was remarkably easy, after a while. Newt simply melted into the attention, and the hard coil of anxiety slowly loosened in Credence chest. It didn’t go away entirely, but Credence didn’t mind. It was worth it for the way Newt tilted his head to allow Credence to scrape his nails over his scalp.

“You’re rather good at this,” Newt murmured.

His lips settling into something close to a smile, Credence replied, “You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t expect it. You don’t seem to have had much, er, softness in your life.”

That… wasn’t what Credence had expected him to say. “I have a younger sister. Sometimes I’d do this for her, when Ma was out.”

Newt looked up at Credence, something shining in his green eyes. They were almost emerald in the darkness, glittering jewels, something too precious for Credence to look at without a window between them. He belonged in forests and deserts and tundras, beautiful places Credence would never see. He didn’t fit in with the dark.

Not like Credence, who apparently had the dark festering _inside of him._

 _Today is a day for breaking rules,_ Credence thought. And then he wondered what the point of rules was, when he didn’t bother actually following them. It wasn’t even like with Ma, where he broke the rules because they were pointless or harmful. He didn’t have a good reason now.

But Credence still didn’t pull away when Newt’s lips bumped into his.

The kiss was chaste and sweet, but it lingered. Newt moved like he was afraid of spooking an animal, all gentle pressure that didn’t force Credence to respond, just sit there.

Their noses bumped together. Credence could feel Newt’s breath ghosting over his skin. His hand was still petting Newt absentmindedly. There was a sharp feeling in Credence’s chest, like someone had pressed a shard of glass into him and was twisting it. It was remarkably like using magic.

At a sound from upstairs they broke apart. Newt’s eyes were entirely ringed with white, and they both seemed to hold their breath until they heard Kegley’s voice.

“Tina!” Kegley sounded more snide than normal, impossibly. “How wonderful to see you again, dear.”

Unbelievably, Newt actually clapped both of his hands over his mouth at the words. Credence gave him a puzzled, alarmed look, tried to ask with his eyes what was happening. But Newt just shook his head, and the voices were too faint for Credence to whisper over them and still hear.

“Lovely,” a woman repeated. The disgust in her voice was so evident that Credence was oddly reminded of Mary Lou. “Just give me the permit and I’ll be on my way. I don’t enjoy your company any more than you enjoy mine.”

Footsteps echoed dully around the room before fading away entirely, and Newt dropped his hands into his lap. His chest heaved in a shuddering breath. “That,” he said softly. “Was the woman I left my case with.”

A feeling not unlike electricity ran through Credence. “Can we try to get her attention?”

“The door is warded, sound can’t escape the basement.” Newt’s face looked hectic, clearly thinking through options as fast as possible.

Both of them remembered the scrap of paper at the same moment. They scrambled for it, sending Pickett squeaking to the floor in the process. But when Newt held the grubby thing in his hands, his brow furrowed. “We don’t have anything to write with.”

“We do.” Credence held up his own hand, then ducked his head at the look on Newt’s face. “I don’t mind.”

“Credence, you don’t need to -”

Again, a noise from upstairs made them both fall silent. Tina was saying her goodbyes, curt but still courteous. They didn’t have any _time._

Turning to Pickett’s large, glittering eyes, Credence whispered. “Prick my finger. Please.”

The bowtruckle shook his head, fervent and sweet. He had strong protective instincts, Newt had said. He wouldn’t want to hurt them, but Credence _needed_ him to. “Please, Pickett. I’ll do it if you don’t.”

Thankfully, that seemed to be the encouragement Pickett needed. One of his sharp fingers darted out, leaving behind a puncture wound that quickly welled with red.

“We have to make the message short,” Newt said quickly. “I won’t have you filling your hands with holes.”

“What should I -”

“Sure you don’t want to stay for coffee?” Kegley’s muffled voice floated down the stairs.

“Very sure,” Tina replied. Credence froze, finger poised over the paper, and stared at Newt.

Indecision warred on his face for a moment, and the pained look made Credence want to just write _help_ and be done with it. But then Newt whispered, “Tell her about Graves.”

He felt his eyes widen at the order. But of course Newt wouldn’t move to save himself, when someone like Mr. Graves (powerful, intelligent, lying Mr. Graves) was posing a threat to others. So Credence grit his teeth, squeezed his finger, and tried not to smear the letters too much.

 _Percival Graves is a fake._ It was all he could do.

Even before the blood dried, Pickett had plucked the paper out of his fingers and then given Newt a look. Credence couldn’t understand the little creature’s moods, but something about his face made Newt sigh. “Please, just take it to Tina.”

Pickett scampered off without a reply, and Newt relaxed marginally. Credence really, really hoped that this worked. He didn’t know who Tina was, but if Newt was willing to trust her with the information and thought she could _do_ something about it, Credence would allow himself to hope.

Unfortunately, they didn’t get a chance to discuss anything else before they heard the door closing. And then Kegley was shouting, this time with the definite intent for them to hear, “Newt! Come on up darling, you know how unpleasant business makes me.”

Without thinking about it Credence caught Newt’s hand. Starting in surprise, Newt looked at him, as if he was a puzzle Newt had just realized he was putting together wrong. “I’ll be perfectly fine,” he whispered, disentangling their fingers and touching Credence’s cheek lightly.

Like a man walking towards a prison cell, Newt headed up the stairs. Credence was left mute, staring after him helplessly. Now, he wished that Kegley _had_ shown interest in him.

Left alone in the dark, Credence tried to use the breathing techniques Newt had taught him. It didn’t help. As much as he hated his body being used, he thought he hated this more. The endless, grueling waiting, and terror that at any moment he might hear something else.

♠♠♠

Percival Graves had a headache, but that was the least of his problems.

Wherever he was, it wasn’t his home. The room was dark, but he could tell it was large, and the wall behind him felt like brick. Therefore, it couldn’t possibly be his apartment, which had wood paneling.

He was also fairly certain the manacles around his wrists were glued to his skin, thanks to thoughtless struggling opening wounds in them again and again. But best not to think about that.

Slowly, he tried to move his legs. They shifted slightly, which was an improvement from last time. Grindelwald often got rather… creative, with his imprisonment.

If Percival wasn’t being tortured on a regular basis already, he could kick himself for being stupid enough to get caught. True, no one had predicted Grindelwald’s sphere of influence growing so large. And true, he’d given the bastard one hell of a fight before going down.

But to not only be taken captive, but to be _kept_ captive as well? His wandless magic kept under a tight leash, and his body broken for a fanatic’s amusement?

Any of his aurors who ended up in a situation like this would be _severely_ reprimanded after being rescued. The problem was, they would need to be rescued first.

Best not to think about that either.

“Oh Percy?” Said a voice from the dark. “Nice to see you awake again. Did you rest well?”

“Grindelwald, your face looks like curdled milk a goat pissed in,” Graves replied. “No one can rest well after being in your company.”

“You wound me,” said Grindelwald. He stepped closer, and a sudden light at the tip of his want blinded Percival temporarily. “How convenient it is, though, that I’m able to borrow your handsome face these days? And your aurors, and your pets.”

“Come off it,” Percival said. His heart wasn’t in it, though. Looking at his own face staring down at him tended to do that to a man.

Smiling pleasantly, Grindelwald squatted down so that his face was more on Percival’s level. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to? I thought the director of magical security would have a bit more curiosity in him. Ah well, seeing as you’re a captive audience, I suppose I could tell you anyway.”

Percival couldn’t think of anything he wanted to hear less, but knowing that would only encourage the man. So he sat, and tried to let his mind wander. It was an exercise in futility; Grindelwald’s voice had a way of slithering into his ears, like some slimy thing trying to get inside his brain.

“That boy of yours proved himself quite a bit less helpful than you’d hoped, sadly.” Grindelwald inspected his nails as he spoke, like Graves’ reaction didn’t matter in the slightest. “I’ve found another use for him, you’ll be happy to know. How _did_ you resist those tempting lips for so long? And those scarred hands, you’d be surprised how dexterous he can still be.”

No. Percival wasn’t going to rise to the bait. He highly doubted Grindelwald was telling the truth, anyway. Credence was so repressed, so under the watchful eye of his mother, that it was impossible to believe he’d agree to sex with anyone. Even his mentor, his savior, and his idol.

Except, Grindelwald wasn’t particularly concerned with Credence _agreeing,_ was he?

A feeling like ice water dripping down his spine made Percival shiver, and Grindelwald’s smile widen. “Now you understand, hmm?” He said, approving and poisonous.

Pointing Percival’s glowing wand at its owner’s nose, Grindelwald said, “Conjunctivium.” Percival felt his eyes itch and sting, and his lids began to swell shut immediately. He grit his teeth, but didn’t break eye contact with Grindelwald.

“Despite the diversion, these past few days have been ever so taxing. You know how it is, running the aurors and breaking down silly, ancient laws. It’s a good thing I have so many outlets for my stress, I suppose.”

“What’s next, a jelly-legs jinx?” Percival kept his tone as even as Grindelwald’s, though it was difficult. His mind kept going back to Credence - sweet, obedient Credence, who had always longed for touch and kindness, who _was_ beautiful even if he hadn’t wanted to take advantage. Percival had barely earned his trust when he’d been captured.

“As amusing as that would be,” Grindelwald said. “I’m afraid you’re have something rather less pleasant ahead of you. But you’re a big, strong boy, yes? You can handle it.”

His eyes sealing shut, Percival wasn’t so sure. He _would_ handle it, no matter how unpleasant it got (he couldn’t allow himself to die here, somewhere unfamiliar that smelled of leather and dust and copper), but his chances of getting out of this _whole…_ Those were dwindling by the day.


	4. Broken Toy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna see more SCtS _tomorrow?_ Check out my tumblr @twitchtipthegnawer ^u^ I post chapter previews!!
> 
> Also, fun fact, did you know apparently, the bat-bogey hex wasn’t invented at this point in history, which is a shame because I could’ve used that to great comedic effect, ehehe. Also that massage was called mechanotherapy and invented in Sweden?
> 
> No sex this chapter, but there is caning, and since it’s a pretty intense BDSM scene I’m including a guide to skipping it here. Stop at “His cheeks were dry, at least.” And start again at “Opening his eyes, Credence sought out light.” Even if you do chose to read this, remember to take care of yourself if need be!

In the dream Credence wasn’t himself. Or maybe he was more himself. He didn’t know.

What he did know was that it was a dream. It must be, because in reality Credence couldn’t ghost close to the ceiling, weightless and ethereal as an angel.

 _Demon,_ whispered something near him, around him. _No angel would look like this._

 _Like what?_ Credence asked, but the thing didn’t respond. And then there was a noise beneath him, and his attention was caught and held like a fly in a web.

“What’s the _fucking_ point?” Growled a man crouched on the floor. He reminded Credence of a wolf, low and feral and dangerous. “You know I’m not giving you any information.”

“Perhaps I simply enjoy a bit of stress relief,” said someone else. He had his back to both of them, and he was blurry, harder to see than he should be.

Spitting bloody saliva onto the ground, the first replied, “I’ll believe that when I’m dead.”

“In that case, you may be believing it sooner rather than later.”

“Right, because you’ll kill me after all the trouble you’ve gone to to keep me alive.”

Ice crystals were spiraling into the room now. Or were they? Neither man seemed cold, but Credence could see the blue-white patterns clear as day.

“Don’t presume. You may know my end goal, Percival, but you have never so much as suspected the steps I will take to reach it.”

“How certain are you of that, really?”

“How certain are _you_ that you’d like to continue this line of inquiry? I do still have the cross set up, you know.”

Cross? Credence’s awareness scattered for a moment, coming back together closer to the floor. And there - a St. Andrew’s cross, attached to the wall. Was the man being crucified?

 _”Obscurus,”_ Credence heard behind him. He wheeled about, a motion that seemed to send half his body in one direction and half in the other, and saw the face of the crouching, bleeding man.

Graves.

When he woke Credence had both hands pressed tightly over his eyelids. He was shivering, and not from the dream, though it had been odd and unsettling.

The whole time, he had been so _angry._ And he hadn’t even noticed. It had felt natural, to look at Mr. Graves lying debased on the floor and feel cold fury. To look at the pale, out of focus man and think of him as disgusting.

That mindset reminded him of nothing so much as Ma’s constant, unflinching judgement, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Any thought he’d had of sharing the dream with Newt, maybe learning if wizards had prophetic dreams of some kind, was dashed quickly. Newt was breathing nightmare-harsh, and Credence crawled across the thin pallet to pet his hair until his own thrashing woke him up too. Ever since Credence had first tangled his fingers in Newt’s hair, they’d both seemed to decide that that was safe. An island in an ocean of touch, where all kinds of beasts lurked under the waves.

Pickett was gone when Credence forced himself out of bed. Off catching bugs, or sunbathing - Newt explained it with the strained kind of smile he reserved for things which used to make him happy and didn’t quite do the trick anymore.

That left the two of them to practice Credence’s magic more, an exercise that ended in disappointment when Credence wasn’t able to unlock the basement door with alohomora even after perfecting the summoning charm. Newt told Credence not to worry about it, but the words rang hollow; at least it got his mind off of the previous night, for a while.

Exhausted and stymied, Credence had been left to chew despondently on bread that reminded him very much of Ma’s food. Even the way it was handed to him, Robert fairly shoving the stale loaf into Credence’s chest as if he wanted to knock the wind out of him.

It was entirely unnecessary, as Credence felt like he couldn’t breathe already.

And then, like most other days, Newt had been called up to service a client. Credence paced, and wrung his hands until his knuckles started aching, and tried to keep his mind occupied. He even managed to force a smile when he imagined what Pickett might be up to.

After what felt like an eternity of fretting, Credence was finally managing to calm down. Newt would be back soon, he was sure. Then Credence could patch him up (Newt was going to teach him some medical spells soon - he might not know many, but he could do first aid), and they could sit together, and maybe Newt would tell him a story.

Credence didn’t know why he allowed himself to fantasize about anything nice anymore. It only made the inevitable call down the stairs so much worse.

There was no special outfit for him to put on, today. Just Robert grinning awfully as he told Credence to lie face-down on the four-poster bed, then jeering as he tied Credence up. “Haven’t had to deal with this shit yet, have you? You’ll be a _sight_ by the time this one’s through with you.”

 _Haven’t had to deal with what?_ The question died unsaid on Credence’s tongue. His mouth was dry, almost cottony feeling. He’d started to think he’d seen everything there was to see.

How arrogant of him. How pathetic, too. Of course there was more, of course the ignorant little boy kept in the dark by Ma and Graves alike wouldn’t understand. Perhaps he was about to see what Newt had all those nightmares about. The thought wasn’t as terrifying as he’d thought it would be.

Robert left with a final chuckle, and Credence tried not to feel the air on the bare skin of his back. He was tied such that he was completely exposed. The room was deathly silent.

Five more minutes passed before Credence began to shiver. He turned his face into the pillow, stifling his breathing. He thought of the phrase _deathly silent_ and wished he could be forgotten here until he wasted away, and even the sound of his heartbeat in his ears disappeared.

Being left alone with his thoughts had always been the worst thing for Credence. Ma’s belt across his palms stung, Modesty’s quiet nightmares ached, and Newt’s ginger movements after a harsh client burned. But being left alone made Credence wish -

That he were good. That he were worth the time he wanted people to take out of their days, just to be near him. That he could be someone Newt wanted to be near, even though that didn’t make sense, because even _if_ Newt wanted to be near him, he wouldn’t be able to. The only person who had banished that tight ball of abandonment in Credence’s belly had been Mr. Graves, and then…

The door opened on oiled hinges, and clicking footsteps made their way into the room, and the day went from ordinary to anything but. “Hello again, Credence,” said a voice Credence would know anywhere. “It has been a while, hasn’t it.”

“Mr. Graves,” Credence gasped, surprised to find how raw his voice was. His cheeks were dry, at least.

“Yes, yes, I know dear boy.” Mr. Graves’ footsteps gave away his position as he came around to the side of the bed, then the mattress dipped as if he were sitting on it. “If I wasn’t so terribly busy, I’d have visited you already. You know that.”

“You gave me away.”

“Why do you sound so sad? You knew that I only keep useful tools, Credence.” Mr. Graves was so gently admonishing, it made Credence’s chest ache.

A hand came up to the back of his head, gently coaxing his face to the side. Credence blinked as the dim room came into focus, and with it Mr. Graves’ calm, controlled face. “You’ve proven yourself useful here in a way you never were out there. It’s only fitting that I keep you, now.”

“Does that mean you’re taking me back?” Credence asked the question before he could think through the words.

“No, obviously not,” Mr. Graves carded his fingers through Credence’s hair. It was rather similar to how Credence soothed Newt. “But I will give you a bit of a reward.”

He stood, and Credence lost sight of him as he walked nearer Credence’s legs. His hands came down on Credence’s thighs, making him gasp and tremble. He didn’t know whether to push into the touch or flinch away, and the hands now kneading his meager flesh felt more restrictive than the ropes at his ankles and wrists anyway.

Worse than that, though, were the words Mr. Graves had said. Credence wanted to believe them. Mr. Graves was a liar, but what reason would he have to lie about Credence being useful? About Credence doing a good job?

 _I’m not allowed to enjoy myself with clients,_ Credence reminded himself. And then, _but does Mr. Graves count?_

Those broad, calloused palms moved up to his butt. They touched him firmly, not arousing, simply warming his cold skin. Credence was reminded, oddly, of Newt telling him about mechanotherapy. His muscles certainly felt more relaxed now, though that wasn’t saying much given how tense he’d been.

When he was starting to hope that this wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared and his muscles were starting to melt under the sensations, Graves pulled away again. “You might find this a bit frightening at first,” he said softly. “But you’ll enjoy it before long. I do know best, don’t I Credence?”

Nothing more happened for a long moment before Credence realized he was meant to respond. “Yes, Mr. Graves.”

Then there was a whistling sound from behind him, and Credence felt his mind go blank. No, it couldn’t be, Mr. Graves had never hurt him, _he wouldn’t he won’t he’s never -_

“Credence, stop struggling.”

Enough awareness trickled in around the edge of the panic that Credence managed to still his arms. His ankles and wrists burned where the rope had abraded them, and a choked sob wormed its way out of his chest.

Hopelessly, Credence said, “Please.”

“What did I tell you, Credence?”

“Th-that… that I’d find it frightening, but I’ll enjoy it.”

“Correct.” Another swishing noise, one Credence couldn’t help but flinch away from. “You will not move, Credence, or else this may harm you.”

And even though Credence’s breathing was harsh, and his fingers digging into his palms, and his head pounding with the need to _get away,_ he found it all too easy to say, “Yes, Mr. Graves.”

 _Swish. Swish._ The sound of air being cut, like it was before the belt hit his back, his hands. But no blows came just yet.

Somewhere in the darkest corners of his mind, Credence thought maybe he knew the one thing about him which made him so _wrong._ Maybe, maybe, it was that need to obey, to serve, to please Mr. Graves even knowing that he wasn’t Graves at all.

Newt didn’t let anyone own him like that. He may have his body taken, his creatures kept away for their own safety, but he was still his own man. He had a level of independence that Credence could only admire.

As the first blow connected, Credence felt the fight drain out of him. He _was_ made wrong, even if he had a use here. It was a perverted, terrible use.

He held still. He didn’t flinch, even when he felt something harder than a belt against his ass, something solid - a rod, a cane, he didn’t know. Even when pain sunk into him like a swarm of bees across his sensitive skin. Even when he gasped in shock. He was still.

“Well done,” Graves said warmly. It made it feel worth it. It made Credence feel warm like the firm touches had.

It made the second blow so much easier to bear, when it came. This time Graves kept the cane pressed to his skin for a long moment, and the pain sank into him, deep where the last one had been shallow. Credence still made a short, pained sound, of course - but he didn’t move otherwise.

Apparently, Mr. Graves didn’t mind the sound. He simply swung again, and again, until Credence’s whole backside hurt. His skin split more than once (he could feel the blood as a trickle of warmth down his hips, and spared a worried thought for the bedsheets) but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t anything like his Ma’s beatings.

Was it because Graves was using a cane instead of a belt? Credence didn’t think so. Was it because he was tied down, and couldn’t jerk and hurt himself further? Perhaps.

More likely, though, it was because Mr. Graves was methodical about it. The stripes didn’t overlap but rarely, and never the ones that had cut into him. There was a rhythm to it, a pattern Credence’s breathing could fall into that would still allow the high, broken sounds whenever Graves brought the cane down.

Once Credence gave in to the feeling of it, he found himself noticing the difference in the blows. The ones on his thighs tended to hurt worse. The ones Graves kept the cane pressed to felt like they were _thudding_ into him. Credence was sinking, drowning in the pain, and he didn’t even mind.

Hurting was easier than thinking, anyway. Like this, Mr. Graves could beat all the thoughts out of his head. No more worrying that he was worthless or broken or somehow corrupting Newt just by being near him, just by liking him. No more remembering Mr. Graves selling him and hungry anger welling up.

Just the endless promise of more pain, and the sound of Graves’ breathing becoming more labored as time went on, and the knowledge that Graves was paying attention to Credence _because he wanted to._

This was meant to be a reward, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t a normal client, and Mr. Graves had always shown Credence rare flashes of kindness. Credence was allowed to enjoy this.

No sooner did Credence think this, than a _crack_ sounded out louder than the others, and Credence broke the rule - the one rule Graves had given him, and the one rule he’d given himself. His hips jerked, and Credence came all over the sheets, smearing and staining them.

Neither of them moved for a long moment. Credence’s brain felt like it was running five minutes behind, still unsure of whether or not he’d liked the beating in the first place. He hadn’t even noticed himself getting hard, let alone nearing the edge, or _crossing_ it.

As with every other time before, guilt crept in at the edges of Credence’s mind. Except this felt heavier, thicker than usual, moving sluggish as pitch. The darkness which had comforted him while the pain rocked his body was stifling now. His transgression was so much worse, he realized, because Graves had given him a _gift,_ and he’d ruined it.

Opening his eyes, Credence sought out light. Mr. Graves’ face. Anything.

Both were there, waiting for him. Mr. Graves was peering closely at Credence’s face, and (if Credence dared to let himself believe that it wasn’t another lie) he looked satisfied.

“A pity I couldn’t have you in Kegley’s old haunt,” Graves said thoughtfully. “But then, it’s being used for a higher purpose now.”

Credence didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. But Mr. Graves wasn’t punishing him for disobeying, so maybe… was he forgiven?

“Up you go,” said Mr. Graves. Credence hadn’t noticed his hands and feet being untied.

All the blood seemed to rush out of Credence’s head as he lifted himself up, giving him tunnel vision for a moment. It was a familiar sensation from weeks with too little food, but it was unpleasant, and was he swaying? Shivering? Both?

“There we are. There’s a good lad.”

 _Good?_ Mr. Graves was wrapping a blanket around Credence’s shoulders, now. It was hard to stay on his feet, and his ass hurt so, so much, but it was worth it for the warmth. Even if blood did make the blanket stick to his legs.

Once he was covered up by what felt like miles of black fabric, Mr. Graves placed a light touch at the small of his back, urging him forwards. Credence walked in a haze, obeying much the same way he had that first night, with that first client.

Except this time it was Graves, who had just made Credence feel oddly important, and who was still walking with Credence. Right up until he stumbled to a stop in front of the basement door, Credence felt like maybe Robert had been wrong. Maybe Graves had been right. Like this thing, whatever it was, hadn’t been bad.

But then the door opened, and Credence was standing on splintering wood instead of finely stained floors, and Mr. Graves was saying, “I’ll be seeing you soon, I imagine.”

Things always felt worse, in the basement. As if Credence couldn’t fully comprehend what had happened in the client’s rooms until he was in the place where he bathed and ate and slept. Where Newt was waiting for him, now, calling his name in a quiet, questioning, wrecked voice.

“I’m here,” Credence called back. He walked down the stairs, taking much longer than normal but not trusting his wobbly legs to move faster.

Making it to the bottom without incident, Credence finally forced his heavy head up and looked around. Newt was lying belly down on the bed, but he had his head propped up with his hands under his chin. He looked - odd. Credence’s head was still too fuzzy to puzzle out why.

“I have good news,” Newt said. Perhaps his head was fuzzy too, after servicing his client.

Hysterical giggles burst from Credence’s lips. He covered his mouth, but it was too late, and Newt was struggling to his feet. Struggling?

“Oh, Credence.” he sounded so sad. “What did they do to you?”

Shaking his head, Credence leaned closer to Newt so that Newt could wrap him up in a hug just a moment sooner. “It was M-m-mister Graves,” Credence whispered.

Newt froze, then tugged Credence to the bed. He tried to get Credence to sit down, but when the boy refused he frowned. “Credence, please, tell me what happened.”

“I-I-I -” Credence bit his own tongue. Then squinted, as he finally pinpointed what was off. “Your f-face, Newt, are you…?”

Bruises littered Newt’s fine, fair skin, and one of his eyes looked to be in the process of swelling shut. His nose had been bloodied, though now the drips had dried into rusty smears across his lips and cheeks. His face looked much the same way Credence’s thighs probably looked, which prompted another giggle.

 _Am I going mad?_ Credence didn’t want to actually ask Newt; he was too afraid of the answer. Instead, he said, “What w-was the good news?”

For a second Credence thought Newt wasn’t going to answer, he seemed so worried. But Newt only sighed, and said, with the tiniest spark of light in his eyes, “Tina wrote back.”

Relief made Credence’s knees week. He _had_ to sit on the bed, his legs wouldn’t carry him any longer, but the second his skin hit the mattress he was crying out. Newt hugged him tighter, saying things that were likely very concerned and sweet, but Credence couldn’t seem to hear him.

“Please,” Credence said when he could breathe again. “Please, tell me what she said.”

Understanding dawned in Newt’s eyes. If Credence needed a distraction, then he was willing to provide one. “She wanted to know who sent the note. And how we knew.”

“Unders-standable,” Credence said. The fuzziness was more like wooziness, now, like how he felt when he hadn’t slept in too long. He wasn’t tired, exactly, but his emotions were on edge and the world seemed like it was spinning. And that reminded him… “Newt, do wizards have prophetic dreams?”

“Sometimes.” Newt’s gaze was locked on Credence, but from the front he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint Credence’s injuries. Credence hiccuped again, and he didn’t know if it was unshed tears or more laughter. “Credence, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help unless you do.”

“I dreamed that Mr. Graves had been tortured against a St. Andrew’s cross,” Credence whispered. “By a man I couldn’t see.”

At this, Newt actually _flinched._ “I’m sorry, Credence,” he said. “But I have - I have to ask you not to mention crosses, for a bit.”

“Why?” The world was spinning again, like it had in his dream, and it wouldn’t _stop._

“Because Kegley has a penchant for them.” Newt was obviously trying to keep his voice light, but the tremor was obvious.

Not that Credence was thinking of the tremor, with what Newt had just said. Kegley. Kegley and crosses and Mr. Graves being an imposter, and a strange dream, and - Credence wanted to ask Newt what he thought about all of this. He needed to. He didn’t know the rules of the wizarding world, didn’t know if his intuition could follow along the right paths.

First, though, he needed to appease Newt. “Graves beat me,” Credence said. He was surprised when his voice was more steady than Newt’s had been. “With a cane, I think.”

“Stand up,” Newt said. His voice was surprisingly hard, and Credence was obeying before he could think.

 _Like a dog,_ Credence thought. _Like I really am as much a beast as Ma said I was._

Carefully, Newt laid Credence on his belly, so that he was in much the same position Newt had been in earlier - and much the same position Credence had been in while he’d been tied down. This time, however, he was able to tuck his arms close to his body. He took solace in that as Newt peeled the wet sheet away from him painfully gently.

As soon as Newt caught sight of the mess of Credence’s thighs his breathing hitched. And then the oddest thing happened; Credence could’ve sworn he _growled._ “The next time I see that man,” he said lowly. “He better hope I don’t have a wand on me.”

“Newt?” Credence sounded painfully plaintive to his own ears, but Newt only hushed him in response. Gentle hands were flitting around the edges of his wounds, testing the extent of the bruising. From the amount of pain that even light pressure created, it was extensive.

“I don’t understand,” Credence mumbled. “It didn’t hurt as much before.”

“Endorphins,” Newt answered. Then he was capturing Credence’s hand, rubbing the back with his thumb in even, calming motions. “Credence, I need you to repeat after me. ‘Tergeo.’ Can you say that?”

“Tergeo.” Credence enunciated as best he could. It tugged on his magic a bit, as if it was meant to be a spell, but without intent behind it it couldn’t have any effect.

“Very good,” Newt said warmly. “You’re doing very well, Credence. Now, I need you to clean your cuts with this spell. It’ll get rid of the blood, too. Alright?”

Concentration, the sort necessary to make his magic _behave,_ felt entirely beyond him right now. Still, Credence nodded, and gathered as much of his power as close to his body as possible. It didn’t matter that magic wasn’t physical or that Credence didn’t understand _how_ he could do such a thing - he did it, because he knew he needed to.

And he said “tergeo,” again speaking very clearly. There was another tug on his magic, then…

Remarkably, nothing. Credence giggled once more, then forced his thumb between his teeth to cut off the sound. He hated this, feeling so out of control, vulnerable.

Hushing sounds came from above him, and Credence reminded himself that Newt wouldn’t let anything happen. Not if he could help it.

Taking a deep, slow breath, Credence tried again. “Tergeo.”

This time he felt the blood vanish off of his skin, simply falling away and leaving him clean, but at the same time a shaft of white light lanced behind his eyelids. He cried out, bit into his thumb, and tasted copper even as he berated himself for breaking his skin again.

“It’s okay,” Newt was saying. “It’s okay, it’s over now. I don’t think we should have you try to close the wounds, too. I wish we could, love, but they needed to be clean more. Don’t want to seal some contaminants inside and get an infection.”

 _Love,_ was Credence’s last thought as his consciousness faded. Newt was still talking, but to himself mostly. Credence knew his mind was floating, overwhelmed by everything that had happened and the restless night before. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t have any nightmares tonight.

Ironically it wasn’t comforting knowledge. Credence could do with seeing Graves beaten down, he realized. It was sadistic and wrong and evil of him, the devil rearing his ugly head, but a piece of Credence longed for that. To see someone who had hurt him be hurt in return. He’d dreamed of Ma’s death before, though he’d never tell anyone.

 _Selfish,_ he told himself. _You should stay awake and heal Newt. You should ask him what’s wrong the way he asked you._

But even as he thought it, he sank into sleep. Perhaps he shivered even in unconsciousness, and perhaps Newt continued to worry long into the night despite his own hurts. Credence had no way of knowing, and didn’t care at the moment.


	5. Sight Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn’t contain any NSFW, but it has pretty intense sub drop. Credence is not okay.
> 
> On that subject neither am I; this chapter fucking obliterated my outline. But hey, if you want to see the chapters a week in advance of them being posted on ao3, hop on over to my tumblr (same username as here + there’s a link in the chapter 1 notes).
> 
> PS, this is the only chapter which features a timeskip in the middle instead of at the beginning. Like I said, my outline is in shambles. Hopefully it still works.

When he woke up, Credence found Newt eating thin soup one of Kegley’s employees had brought to them. He was still groggy, and his head ached; if someone had told him his mind was fraying at the edges, he would have believed them.

He must have made some noise because Newt was glancing up, then doing a double take. “Credence, how are you feeling?” He asked, clearly fretting.

“I don’t… know,” Credence said. His mouth felt like a desert.

Wordlessly, Newt held up a spoonful of the soup. He cupped his other hand under it, holding it so carefully. It reminded Credence of mothers he’d seen feeding toddlers.

To his surprise, however, Credence found he wasn’t hungry in the slightest. He turned his face away, just slightly, and rasped, “Could I have some water instead?”

Frowning, Newt peered carefully at Credence’s face. Whatever he saw there, he didn’t like, but he still said, “Of course. Have mine, I’ll fill another glass.”

Credence took the glass with both hands, as carefully as he could. His hands were _still_ shaking. The water tasted sour in his mouth, but he forced it down.

What a terrible start to a day. Credence’s lower half felt like a single, giant bruise. Each slight shift sent pulses of pain up his spine, and he still hadn’t found his equilibrium.

“You were talking in your sleep,” Newt said softly.

Dread made Credence’s hands heavy, and he had to set the glass down. “What did I say?”

“Graves’ name, mostly. Credence, I know you didn’t have much choice, but…”

_Swallow. Breathe. Newt won’t call me weak for this. He won’t._

“If he comes for you again, I want you to hurt him.”

Shocked, Credence stared at Newt. There was a steely determination there, not an inch of the softness he’d gotten used to. Words deserted him, and he didn’t know how to respond.

Apparently Newt took that as an answer, though, and he nodded with a sense of finality. “Tina also sent Pickett back with paper and a bit of charcoal. I wrote back about the polyjuice potion.” Then he smiled ruefully, a bit of the anger from before melting away. “I think Pickett’s getting sick of playing delivery boy, but he’ll do it for us.”

With another sip of water and a nod, Credence processed what Newt had said. He still had questions for Newt, things he’d meant to ask before he’d passed out, but they could wait. Newt may have cleaned his face of blood; that didn’t mean that he was healed of all his injuries.

“Is there a s-spell I can use to heal you?” Credence asked, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. Newt reached up as if to touch his cheek and make him stop, but then sighed heavily and let his arm fall again.

Nodding, Newt replied. “Episkey heals minor injuries, and I don’t think either of our injuries are deep enough to require anything else. But, Credence, I’d really rather you took care of yourself first -”

“Episkey,” Credence said, letting his eyes fall shut. He thought seeing Newt’s bruises sinking and melting back into the rest of his skin would be a bit too disturbing for him, at the moment.

Newt made a small, shocked sound, but didn’t protest further. After a beat he sighed, then Credence felt the bed shift as he sat on the edge. “Oh Credence, what will we do with you?”

Responding seemed like entirely too much work. Credence leaned down, set the glass on the floor carefully, and then lay back down as if to go to sleep. He doubted he could actually rest; pain was still pulsing through him from his magic and his wounds both. But Newt was reluctant to rouse him when he appeared to be asleep, and Credence wasn’t above taking advantage of that.

After about an hour, during which Newt moved about quite a bit (Credence heard James’ quiet voice at one point, as well, but couldn’t piece together words), Newt seemed to have enough. He placed both hands on the thin mattress hard enough to jostle it, and said, “Credence, you mentioned prophetic dreams yesterday.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I saw Mr. Graves being held captive and tortured.” It took entirely too much effort, but he forced his eyes open again.

Unlike before, Newt looked more thoughtful than pale. “Is it possible that what you saw was the real Graves? Wherever he is right now?”

A hazy recollection returned to Credence. “I think so,” Credence said. “The one who - who had me yesterday, he mentioned something about wanting to use Mr. Kegley’s, um, ‘old haunt.’ And you said Kegley likes…”

“Crosses,” Newt murmured. He shivered, but his eyes were clear, not gazing into the middle distance. “Credence, I think we’ve got more information for Tina. Although, I do feel the need to warn you, I don’t think you should try to dream like that again.”

“Why not?” Credence hadn’t even realized that trying was an option, but if it was he didn’t see why they shouldn’t use every tool they could.

“It’s entirely possible that your obscurus was what gave you that ability,” Newt said. “You’ll be even more vulnerable to it in sleep, and we haven’t been allowing it to run loose recently. I can’t risk losing you, Credence.”

The genuine, sweet pain in Newt’s voice was like a lance through Credence’s chest. _He’s only saying that because he needs me,_ Credence told himself. _Without me, he can’t escape._

But it was dawning on Credence that Mr. Graves might be the same way. And maybe, if Credence’s disgusting, parasitic magic could be useful to both Newt and Mr. Graves (the real Mr. Graves), then it would be worth some risk. He couldn’t say that out loud though, so he simply looked up at Newt, and gave him a small smile.

“I promise, I won’t try.” He reached out to tangle his fingers in Newt’s hair, and felt strange seams in his scalp. It took him a moment to realize they were places where Newt’s hair had torn out, and he’d bled.

“Thank you.” Newt leaned into the touch, catlike and content. “Now, can we see about healing you as well? I’m so sorry I can’t do it, but my magic, well.”

Scratching lightly at the back of Newt’s head, Credence replied. “I know.” Then he steeled himself for another spell; he wished they weren’t so unpleasant, or draining. He wished they weren’t so much a reminder of what he’d wished for and been denied.

Unpleasant reminder or not, however, they were necessary. Credence was rather good at doing necessary, unpleasant things.

♠♠♠

Time was rather difficult to gauge in a room with no windows or clocks. Still, Percival Graves was careful and clever, and he knew that at least a week had passed since Grindelwald had last seen him. Perhaps it was even closer to two weeks.

Dehydration was a concern, but not a large one. Grindelwald had somehow locked down most of Percival’s wandless magic, leaving only enough that he was able to manage a weak aguamenti. He disliked that the effort of such a simple spell would leave him exhausted and utterly vulnerable, but he could manage it as needed.

Such were his thoughts, mundane as they were, when the obscurial once again appeared in the room.

It started with a strange, grainy texture hovering in the air, slowly coalescing into a black cloud of what appeared to be sand. Percival knew better, and he was left staring at it, mouth dry and hands shaking.

Forget being vulnerable to Grindelwald’s sadistic whims. An obscurial would kill Percival without a second thought, maybe without even realizing he was there.

To his shock, however, it didn’t killl him. It simply sat there, hovering in the air, slowly swirling in a breeze only it could feel. It appeared to be getting denser, perhaps, but it made no move to attack.

Suddenly it _snapped_ together, forming the silhouette of a young man. He was oddly flat, featureless, like a shadow brought to life. “Who _are_ you,” Graves asked in a voice creaky from disuse. He didn’t know whether or not it was smart to address the obscurial, but he found simply sitting and gaping like a fool unbearable.

“You don’t know me?” The obscurial asked. His voice was painful to listen to, like nails down a chalkboard, and Percival winced.

Still he responded, because what else could he do? The obscurial had _talked to him._ He’d never heard of anything like this before.

“No,” Percival said. “Should I?”

“A man with your face tortured me,” he answered.

 _Fuck._ “That wasn’t me,” Percival tried his hardest to keep panic from entering his voice. Calm and steady, that was the way to deal with an obscurial. “It was a man named Gellert Grindelwald. Do you know who that is?”

The silhouette shook his head, then hesitated. “Does Mr. Kegley work for Grindelwald?”

“Kegley? William Kegley?” Percival frowned at that. Kegley had been arrested before on suspicion of human trafficking and breaking sex work laws, but never for being a Grindelwald supporter.

Eyes widening, Percival looked at the room around him. Sex work. Of fucking course.

“You really don’t know, do you,” the obscurial said. “You’re like me, Mr. Graves.”

“Well, there’s one difference between us. You know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

Obscurial boy actually _flinched_ at that. “Credence Barebone,” he whispered, ethereal as a winter wind.

Things were simultaneously making more and less sense as time went on. The Scourer boy was entirely too old to be an obscurial, unless… The implications were enough to make Percival shiver.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Graves,” Credence said. “I’ve told Tina Goldstein where you’re being held captive. I’m sure she won’t allow Grindelwald to keep you much longer.”

“You’ve _what?”_ Percival stared in shock.

Immediately after he asked the question, three things occurred. The first was that Credence jerked to the side, then dissipated, presumably returning his consciousness to his body. The second was that shouting started up close by, the first sounds Percival had heard through the walls in weeks.

Third, whatever had been keeping his wandless magic docile broke.

Shamefully, it took Percival a solid minute before he fully registered what had happened. But no one had to know that. As soon as he had processed things, he was growling, a feral grin breaking over his face.

“Alohomora,” he spat.

The shackles on his wrists fell open with a clang, pulling free some of his skin with them. He didn’t care. The pain was far away now, inconsequential, like his hunger and thirst. Percival Graves could hear the sounds of battle nearby.

Marching to the door, he watched dispassionately. It simply crumbled in front of him, no reducto required, and the dusty remains blew away as he stepped over them.

Pure chaos greeted him. Aurors were slinging spells, while Grindelwald’s guards cowered behind an overturned grand piano. It was five on one, and the battle had been decided already. Graves didn’t really need to interfere.

He didn’t care. He was furious, both with Grindelwald and with his aurors for taking so _damn_ long. He deserved a bit of pageantry, after that. He deserved to let fucking lose.

Shoes leaving the ground in a rather impressive display of levitation, Graves bellowed, “What the fuck was the holdup? Too much paperwork to get me back?”

A round, rosy-cheeked face looked up at him. “Mr. Graves, sir!” Tina said cheekily. “I’ve been demoted to Federal Wand Permit Officer. Otherwise, this would’ve been settled inside a week, I guarantee it!”

 _Alright, I’m going to think about that later,_ Percival decided. Aloud, he said, “Tina, you’re getting a fucking raise!” Then he put both idiot guards in full body-binds, because they deserved it, and the expressions of shock on their faces were comical when frozen in place.

Settling back onto the rubble-strewn floor, Percival subtly continued to support his weight with magic. “Now that that’s settled,” he said. “Someone give me a ride to the hospital. And Tina, you’re coming with me. There’s no damn way I have time or patience to wait for a proper report, after this.”

“With pleasure, sir,” Tina said. She was unharmed, like all the other aurors - truthfully, the battle had been incredibly short. Grindelwald’s imprisonment of Percival relied on stealth, it seemed.

No sooner did Percival think that than the room suddenly darkened. A loud _pop_ sounded, and a horribly familiar voice said, “Oh no, you don’t.”

“It _wouldn’t _be that simple, would it,” Percival grumbled. He hated having his own wand levered at him with a special kind of vengeance.__

__Giving him an apologetic look, Tina said, “At least we managed to break the artefact he was using to control your magic?”_ _

__Graves didn’t get a chance to respond before he had to shout “Protego!” Grindelwald was powerful, but that meant he had to worry all the more when his own curse bounced back at him._ _

__From there Percival fell into the same mentality he always had during battle. He shouted terse orders. Took a spell to the shoulder he couldn’t feel. Didn’t care about, since he wasn’t using his wand anyway. Ducked, flicked his wrist, looked back to make sure Grindelwald’s goons were still frozen in place._ _

__Grindelwald was saying something with Percival’s voice. He couldn’t make out the words over the din in the room, but he heard the tone. It brought back memories of pain and torment, things he couldn’t afford to think about in the heat of battle._ _

__“Silencio!” He shouted, magic whipping around him in a frenzy._ _

__For only a moment Grindelwald’s mouth moved in silence. He dispelled the charm quickly, but a moment was all Percival needed._ _

__“I’ve heard you’ve been indulging with someone other than me,” Percival taunted. “I’m almost insulted. Were my screams not enough?”_ _

__“What?” Grindelwald’s voice was deadly calm. Worse, he cast a nonverbal spell at the same time, something red which Graves didn’t recognize and Tina barely dodged in time._ _

__Realization dawned on his face, and then fury. There was a distant, shrill ringing, then -_ _

__A sudden _pop,_ and Grindelwald was gone as quickly as he’d come. The only reason Graves didn’t fall to the next curse Grindelwald’s flunkies threw at him was because of his hundreds of hours of training._ _

__Questions burned on his tongue, but they didn’t have _time._ Lashing out in a movement that had both his wrists dripping blood again, Percival simply willed his opponents unconscious. He knew, even as he did it, that it would leave him magically exhausted. He didn’t care._ _

__Two of Grindelwald’s three remaining fighters fell immediately, and the third faltered long enough that one of the aurors could cast a sleeping charm on him. In the silence that followed they all breathed hard, waiting for something else to go wrong._ _

__“I’m bleeding,” said Tina, sounding innocently surprised._ _

__Turning, Graves realized her arm was, in fact, dripping red. He would have reached out to help her but the world had gone grey at the edges, and he may or may not have been swaying on his feet. “I believe we’re overdue a trip to the hospital,” he said primly._ _

__“Quite,” Tina replied. They were bundled into a waiting car, with one of the other aurors driving it. Graves hadn’t caught his face, but made a mental note to give him a bonus later._ _

__After about a minute of silence, Graves cleared his throat. “You said you could give me a report?”_ _

__“Ah, with all due respect sir, are you sure you’ll remember it? You’re looking a bit peaky.”_ _

__“Stop sassing me and explain, Goldstein.”_ _

__“Right.” She took a deep breath, then began. “Credence Barebone and a wizard by the name of Newt Scamander uncovered your abduction. They’ve been communicating with me using a bowtruckle - yes, I know, don’t ask - to help free you.”_ _

__“And how did they come by this information?” Graves asked, even though he was fairly sure of the answer._ _

__“They’re being held captive in William Kegley’s house, sir,” Tina sounded remarkably bitter about that. “And we haven’t been able to get a warrant, because Grindelwald has been impersonating you and making investigation rather difficult.”_ _

__With a heavy sigh, Percival said, “Yes, I’m sure he has. And I’m sure this little raid wasn’t entirely legal, either.”_ _

__She blushed lightly, ducking her head. “Well, Mr. Graves, it’ll be legal as soon as we get you to sign the paperwork.”_ _

__“Tina.” Graves watched her shoulders raise, expecting a reprimand, and smiled. “You’ve done well, all things considered. Now give me some damn details, I can’t do shit with the bare bones.”_ _

__Shoulders relaxing again, Tina smiled. It was thin, though, and worried. “To start with, that Newt Scamander I mentioned…”_ _

____

♠♠♠

“We won’t get another chance like this.”

“You’re _sick,_ Credence. I told you not to use your obscurus to get information.”

“But without the address, Tina wouldn’t have been able to find him. Please, just let me try.”

Newt was tired. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair was a wreck from how often he’d raked his fingers through it. The past week hadn’t been kind to him.

It hadn’t been kind to Credence either. He could feel it in the way he’d lost weight, the way his hands shook. But he needed to do this. They couldn’t wait for Tina forever, and with the house empty (he didn’t know where Kegley went, only that he’d heard shouts followed by the sound of apparition) this might be the only chance they would get.

Gritting his teeth, Credence said, “Reducto.”

Abruptly his magic bucked, like some wild beast trying to escape his grip. He gasped and fell to his knees, the entire world going dark around him for a moment. He came back to himself slowly, to the feeling of Newt’s hands on his shoulders and the sound of ringing bells.

“An alarm, always an alarm,” Newt said through gritted teeth as he helped Credence back onto his feet. “I only hope Kegley’s wards aren’t keyed so that he can hear them from anywhere. If they are, we’re screwed.” Credence gasped and tried to say something about the profanity, but he couldn’t get enough air, and Newt was already plowing ahead. “Credence, love, we need to _move.”_

Newt practically carried him up the last of the stairs, and then they were standing in that hateful, familiar hallway. Credence forced his feet to hold his weight, even though he had to lock his knees to do it.

“The front door’s to the left,” Newt was saying. “But maybe we should go out the back, less chance of a muggle seeing us that way.”

Just processing the words took so much effort that Credence didn’t think he could respond. But he still managed to follow Newt, step by painful step. They were so close he could almost _taste_ it.

Really, he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. He should’ve known that no amount of effort, no amount of forcing his dreaming consciousness to remember street signs and landmarks, no amount of relaying information to Ms. Goldstein, could _ever_ be enough. Credence destroyed everything he touched. Why should this be any different?

Graves-who-wasn’t-Graves was staring at them from beside the back door to the house, smiling in a way that was not the least bit pleasant. “Credence,” he said, the one word gently admonishing (the way he got when Credence asked for more clues about the child, for more soft touches, more anything). “Do you know the story of Myrmecoleon?”

Cringing, Credence nodded. He became aware of Newt’s hand tugging his, urging him backwards, only when Newt stopped tugging. Credence turned to see Newt staring at Graves with hatred in his eyes, absolutely unbridled and furious. “Stop spewing drivel,” he said. “If you’re going to terrorize the poor boy -”

“Ah, so you don’t know it, do you dear Newt?” Graves nodded. No, Grindelwald, that’s what Tina had said his name was. “In that case, allow me to enlighten you.”

Gra - Grindelwald levelled his wand at them. “The myrmecoleon was the result of an unholy union between an ant and a lion. With the head of a lion, it could only eat meat. With the body of an ant, it could only digest grain. It was doomed to starve to death.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Newt asked. He sounded nothing like the kind man Credence knew. He sounded like fury, the way Credence had heard mother dogs growl when their pups were threatened.

And just like the boys who thought kicking puppies was so much fun, Grindelwald looked untouched by that anger. “Credence knows the _significance,_ don’t you my boy?”

“He isn’t yours,” Newt said before Credence could open his mouth.

“No, he isn’t is he? I sold him after all. He’s Kegley’s.” A small smile lit up Grindelwald’s handsome face, and Credence hated the way it made him breathless from fear and longing both. “And he’s trying to steal himself away. I’d best rectify that.”

At the same moment Grindelwald began saying _”Imperio,”_ Newt stepped in front of Credence as if to shield him from a blow. But Credence didn’t feel a blow, just a strange sort of sleepiness overcoming him. It dampened his emotions, and made his limbs too heavy to move. But at the same time he wasn’t swaying, simply stood still and complacent as a dumb animal.

A dumb animal wouldn’t know what was coming, of course. A dumb animal wouldn’t flick its eyes over, see Newt with a slack look on his face to match Credence’s, and feel sick guilt in its gut.

Calm as could be, Grindelwald gave a little flourish with his wand, and Credence felt his feet moving without his permission. He marched back into the basement as if he’d never intended to leave. As if Newt wasn’t behind him, defenceless and stuck with that horrible man.

 _None of it matters,_ Credence thought. _You endanger Newt with your presence no matter where he is._ It was sinister, sickly, not like his normal thoughts. It seemed to slither around his brain again and again, repeating itself. _None of it matters._

When they reached the bottom, Grindelwald began reciting a long and complicated incantation. Credence wanted to turn to see what was happening, but he couldn’t. Grindelwald held him firmly still with some invisible force of will Credence didn’t know how to fight. And, with myrmecoleon drifting through his head, it was hard to _want_ to fight.

With no warning, the spell let go, leaving Credence to stumble as his center of gravity seemed to lurch. Grindelwald laughed, and at last Credence turned his head to see Grindelwald standing behind a shimmering, clear wall.

“The two of you could have done much worse, if it’s any consolation,” he said. And then he was disappearing with a cracking sound.

Marching back up the stairs, Newt reached out to touch the magic _thing_ which now occupied the doorway. He snatched his hand back quickly, however, and Credence caught the smell of ozone in the air.

Unexpectedly, tears began to well in Credence’s eyes. He crouched down, covered his face, and tried very hard not to hear Newt’s concerned words.

 _We might have saved Mr. Graves,_ Credence told himself.

 _Tina knows where we are,_ he reminded himself.

The voice in his head was right. It didn’t matter.


	6. Fairer Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA that obviously a pro dom/domme would never behave this way & this is a whump fic tailor made to torture my boys. To skip a noncon flogging scene, stop at “he fought down the nausea in his gut” and start again at “his hand let go of the cross.”
> 
> Please don’t kill me for how long this took to release, my wisdom teeth were hell to get out. Also please don’t kill me for the end of this chapter.

If there was anything Graves hated worse than the thought of his aurors mistaking a European madman for him, it was improperly filed paperwork. And what did he find when he came back to work (several days before he was meant to be out of the hospital, but who cared what medi-witches said)? Several months of absolutely useless paperwork, of course.

It didn’t help at all that their ongoing investigation was turning up jack shit. Grindelwald had gone to ground, Kegley’s sex dungeon hadn’t had any traceable ties to him, and when they had obtained a warrant to inspect Kegley’s house…

Percival massaged his temples. Just remembering that catastrophe gave him a headache.

The plan was so _obvious,_ which just added insult to injury. Kegley’s basement was clearly spelled with a charm that warped space somehow. Which meant that he was keeping his captives down there.

But without an adjusted warrant the aurors couldn’t simply blast the spell away, and they couldn’t get a second, more complicated warrant without quite a bit of paperwork, and whenever they needed paperwork they found their system in shambles.

As much as Percival loved the law, he was reaching his limit. Every day that went by was another day Grindelwald had a chance to enact whatever plan he’d wanted an obscurial for - and Percival was under no illusions about that. Grindelwald _had_ to know that Credence was the obscurial by now.

Their only real guess as to why nothing horrible had happened yet was that Credence was refusing to cooperate. Of course he was. From everything Graves had heard about him, he was insanely strong, both in spirit and in magical power. But he would crack eventually. Everyone did.

Well, everyone except Percival. He thought he deserved some credit for how well he’d held up after months of imprisonment.

When he was younger, Percival might’ve said “Fuck it” and gone after Grindelwald, consequences be damned. He was certainly tempted to do so now, with his own imprisonment fresh in his mind.

(Nevermind that his hands still shook if he so much as wrote too long. Nevermind that walking was still difficult even with a cane. A rescue would require mostly magical strength, and he had plenty of that after having been kept from using his magic for so long.)

 _Yes,_ he reminded himself. _And if you charge in with no backup, you may very well end up captured again. Idiot._

Sighing heavily, Percival stared down at his desk. It was a mess of layered paper and parchment, an inkwell sitting nearly empty beside a veritable pile of quills. Apparently, quite apart from being a self-proclaimed savior of wizards, Grindelwald was also an insufferable packrat. This did nothing to endear him further to Graves.

 _Wait for us,_ he thought. Or prayed, perhaps, though he was sure praying to an obscurial was some kind of sacrilegious. _We’ll get you out of there. I promise. Please, just wait._

♠♠♠

Shudders wracked Newt’s frame. Credence ran a damp cloth down his back, wincing in sympathy every time he went over a welt. He wished for ice or snow, even just a cold breeze, but in the basement there was only endless heat. And he hadn’t been out of the basement in a while.

“I can’t keep letting them do this to you,” Credence whispered. Just because they hadn’t been letting him up didn’t mean the same was true of Newt, and last time…

Last time they hadn’t even bothered to take him upstairs. They had forced Credence to _watch._

“No,” Newt said softly. “Credence, that’s what they _want._ If you lose control -”

“I don’t care if they’re using me. I don’t care even if it hurts me. I can’t stand seeing them do this to you.”

“Credence,” Newt’s voice cracked beneath the force of some emotion. He sat up slowly, despite the obvious pain in his back, and reached out to Credence’s face. This time, Credence let him. No amount of comfort could possibly make Credence hurt more than he already did. “I can withstand the torture because I know that I’m doing it for your sake. Don’t - don’t invalidate that.”

Averting his eyes, Credence argued, “I don’t mean to, only, y-you shouldn’t let yourself be hurt for my sake.”

“We’ve been over this,” Newt sounded painfully gentle, all bleeding-heart. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but that’s because you’ve been trained into it. If you could see yourself the way I see you, you’d understand.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand.” Credence’s voice had no bite, but the dead tone made Newt lean away a bit anyway. “Do you remember what Grindelwald said?”

“That rubbish about myrmecoleon?”

“It wasn’t rubbish. I’m - I’m like that, I’m made wrong, Newt. I break everything I touch.”

“Says who?” Despite the obvious pain in his back, Newt grabbed Credence’s shoulders and shook him. He was weak as a kitten, but it got the point across. “You’re not _made wrong,_ you’ve simply found yourself in some extraordinarily unfortunate circumstances. That’s not your fault.”

“No, you don’t _understand._ I’ve always thought so. Not because of anything Ma or - or Grindelwald said. I take up too much space. Ma never fed us much, but I still grew so tall, and I’m… I don’t know how to explain.”

He didn’t think he could look Newt in the eye any longer, but Credence was also loath to jerk away and hurt him. He ended up simply covering his face with his hands, like a child hiding in the dark, hoping the monsters couldn’t see him.

“I u-used to be jealous of Modesty,” he confessed. “I wanted to be so small I could hide under the bed. I still w-want that. I’ve even thought about - I’m sorry, but I’ve thought about how nice it would be, if I were smaller than you, and you could, could j-just wrap me up in your arms and I could feel _safe_ and know that I could never hurt you, because I was small and harmless and -”

The words couldn’t seem to stop. Credence was shaking, he hadn’t expected such a reaction from himself, didn’t know how to stop it. And then Newt was lunging forwards, ignoring his injuries in favor of hugging Credence exactly the way he’d wanted to be hugged.

 _Not quite exactly,_ Credence had to correct himself. Because his stomach was churning, and his mind was going faster than a train careening off the tracks, and Newt was so frail against him. His wiry muscles were all but wasted away after so long without the exercise that caring for his creatures gave him. Credence could feel Newt’s bones through their clothes.

So he had to pull away, regretful but nauseous. Newt let him go reluctantly. “You just wait,” he whispered, fervent and determined. “When we’re out of here, and I’m as healthy as I’ve always been, I’ll pick you up just to prove I can. You don’t have to be afraid of yourself, Credence.”

That was entirely too tempting for Credence’s own good. He smiled a watery, wobbly smile, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response.

Then it didn’t matter what he could or couldn’t say, because Newt was kissing him.

Their fourth kiss together. It didn’t feel like any of the others - not like something furtive and afraid, not like something a half-step off from their personalities, not like a show they put on for clients.

This was all gentleness, but Newt showed no sign of pulling away. He kissed Credence like he was giving a preview of the future. It was as if he was saying, with his mouth carefully coaxing Credence’s open, _“Here is how I’ll make you feel safe.”_

And it was a safe kiss. There was heat, but nothing that obligated Credence to reach out and touch Newt. There was power, but Newt wasn’t _demanding_ anything of Credence. He was moving, a slow thrust of his tongue in and out, but he wasn’t bullying his way deeper. Simply giving Credence a path he could follow if he wished, a road to the smallness he craved.

How could Credence have possibly resisted such sweet temptation?

“Thank you,” Newt murmured as the kiss died down. “Thank you for telling me that.”

Words seemed a bit beyond Credence, still. He nodded, though, and took deep breaths to center himself again. Newt sat beside him, patient as always, not touching anymore. Just providing solidarity. Company.

Love, perhaps, though Credence’s mind shied from the word. He still thought of salt-and-pepper hair, of whispered promises in dark alleys. He might never have loved Grindelwald truly, but he had hoped for so long that it was almost the same thing.

As much as Credence had moved on from that time in his life, he couldn’t help but remember it. He hoped that someday he’d be free of it, but that day seemed a long way off.

“Hello down there!” Robert shouted. “Did somebody order a slut?”

Abruptly, Credence’s muscles tensed. He went from fuzzy and wishful to feeling burgeoning fury in a heartbeat. Newt rested a hand on his shoulder, keeping him from standing up.

“One moment,” he responded, voice cracking. “I’ll be up soon.”

“No.” That voice was much closer, and Credence turned towards it so quickly his neck cracked. James was standing there, hands spread palms-out in front of him, looking strangely regretful. “Not you. We need Credence.”

All of the air seemed to disappear from the room. Newt’s face was frozen, his chest still as he waited for the other shoe to drop. Credence knew that Newt would beg to take his place in a heartbeat, but all Credence could think was: _finally, I can do something to keep him safe._

“Coming,” said Credence, scrambling to his feet. “I’m - I’m coming, I’ll do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Newt reached out to stop him. But before he could say so much as a single word, James was grabbing hold and whirling him around, afilling him with sickening sensation like his stomach was being squeezed out through his ears. Gasping, Credence clung to his shoulders, then blinked hard. He couldn’t understand what had just happened.

They were standing right next to Robert, at the top of the stairs. _Magic,_ Credence reminded himself. _That’s all it was._ But his heart still pounded and his head reeled as they walked him to the client’s room.

Or - no, perhaps not a _client_ room. They were heading up the stairs, to Kegley’s personal quarters. Credence had never been up there, and he swallowed hard, but couldn’t really find it in himself to be properly afraid. He remembered what Newt had said about crosses, and thought more about how Newt _wouldn’t_ be on one than about how Credence would be.

Yes, that was the thing he needed to focus on. As they stripped him down stoically, Robert uncharacteristically quiet, he reminded himself that he was keeping Newt safe. As they strapped his wrists and ankles to a saltire cross and left him facing a wall, unable to view the rest of the room, he told himself, _This is much better than letting go of my obscurus._

If he wasn’t quite sold on the idea, no one had to know.

This room was colder than the ones on the ground floor, and it wasn’t long before Credence’s skin was pimpled with gooseflesh. Unlike with Grindelwald, however, he wasn’t left to wait for long.

 _Click, click, click,_ came footsteps down the hall. They sounded like fancy lady’s shoes, and Credence whimpered unintentionally. Then he bit his lip, just in time to hear the door open.

“What is this?” Said a feminine, prim voice. “I got myself all dressed up for the date, and then they don’t even want to let you see me.”

Screwing his eyes shut, Credence didn’t look as he felt fingers untying his right wrist and ankle. He took a deep breath, but his heart still pounded entirely too hard and fast.

“Open your eyes,” she said. Her hand fisted in his hair, ensuring that his head tilted towards her.

Why was it so hard to obey? Why did she remind him, distantly, of Mary Lou, even though she was nothing like Ma?

He fought down the nausea in his gut and opened his eyes.

The woman was pretty, he supposed. She had hair that was long and dark and softly curled. She was dressed in a fashion that even Credence recognized as out of date, but was elegant nonetheless with a tightly-laced corset and severe black-and-white coloring.

Yet everything about her made him feel far more terrified than Grindelwald ever had.

“You’re a cute one, aren’t you,” she said approvingly. “And no fresh marks on you either. It’s always nice when they give me a blank canvas to work with.”

Another deep, shuddering breath was the only response Credence could give. If he opened his mouth, he was sure he’d whimper again.

She nodded decisively, then moved to stand behind him again. “I do hope that you won’t make me tie up that wrist again. Grip the cross like a good boy, and I’ll go easy on you.”

With numb fingers, Credence struggled to obey. He could keep one hand free this way. He could fight her off if he needed to.

 _No, I can’t,_ Credence reminded himself. _If I back away from this, they’ll hurt Newt instead._

So he bit his lip harder, until he tasted copper, and he waited for the first blow.

Again, she didn’t keep him waiting long.

It didn’t hurt at first. Whatever she was striking him with was softer than a cane or belt, and she wasn’t putting too much strength behind it. Even as she built a rhythm and began to hit his shoulders harder, Credence dared to hope that this wouldn’t be too bad. True, he wasn’t relaxing into it the way he had with Grindelwald, but this was a _woman._

After everything he’d been through, he should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. By the time she landed a hit which left his shoulder blades burning, the adrenaline was already pouring through his system. And he felt, in a moment of blinding clarity, what would happen if she continued.

“Stop, please!”

To his shock, she _did_ stop. A hand threaded through his hair, but he couldn’t open his eyes.

“So distraught, and yet you’re holding the cross as tightly as ever,” she mused. “What could someone as obedient as you possibly have done to warrant your owner hiring _me?”_

Hiring her? So she wasn’t a client. Kegley - or more likely, Grindelwald - had specifically sought her out to torture Credence. That made an awful sort of sense. After all, he’d never been given to a female client before.

While he was busy thinking, the hand in his hair retreated. “Too bad for you, I was paid good money for this. We aren’t done yet.”

Another blow striped across his upper back. Another sob ripped out of his chest.

Deep inside his mind, Credence asked himself: did he really need to endure this? He was on the second floor, and Newt was in the basement. If he let go of the anger, the indignity, the fury that Grindelwald had tortured them both, there was a chance Newt would be okay. Even as angry as he was, Credence didn’t want to hurt Newt. The obscurus was part of him. It would know.

 _Newt said not to give in,_ Credence thought.

_Newt’s been wrong before._

He lasted through three more blows. He counted them, in his head, and felt each like it was a star falling to the earth. They shook through him, less pain and more simply pressure. One. Two.

Three. His hand let go of the cross.

As it turned out, letting go was easy. Credence had a split second to feel every muscle in his body go lax with relief, the anticipation that pain was coming to an end, and then his awareness splintered in a dozen different directions.

Slipping from the ropes, one two four limbs free how many limbs did he have why did he even still need them -

The woman, staring up at him in horror, not yet comprehending enough to be terrified and she would never get the chance -

A dead body falling to the floor and with that done he was _free_ to explode outwards in a million shards, broken glass falling like rain, glittering like snow -

Why would he ever seek out the dark or the quiet when he could become the dark itself and live in the cacophony he created?

Vaguely, some piece of him was aware that he would regret this later. At the moment, however, all he cared about was the unbridled, raw _feeling_ of it. The painless energy filling him, making him feel as though he could be as big as he wanted without ever fearing the wrath of _anyone._ Why should he fear them? He was the worst thing out there.

And that was freeing too - allowing himself to be _evil._ Allowing himself to be sinful and filthy and rotten to the core and, more than that, allowing the rot to fuel him. He found himself picturing faces in his head, barely thinking about them as he did. _Grindelwald Mary Lou Chastity Graves the man who spat on him when he handed out fliers the woman who -_

Everyone who had wronged him.

Two wrongs might not make a right, but Credence didn’t care. He was barely even Credence anymore.

He was done being the victim. He was done being punished. It was time to punish _them._

Pushing at the edges of the building, just lightly, was all it took to make the facade crumble. Credence laughed with a sound that was like no laughter he’d ever heard before.

All of a sudden, Credence knew he didn’t have to go anywhere to get to his first target. There was that salt-and-pepper hair he’d so often longed to run his fingers through. There were those dark eyes that had so often stared down at him, now looking up from a sidewalk littered with chunks of brick and mortar.

There was that _fucking smile._

“My boy,” purred Grindelwald. “So good to see you’ve finally come around.”

Furious and exalting, Credence attacked.


	7. Durandal's Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy look how far we’ve come.
> 
> No need for a skipping guide here. This chapter is pure badassery.

The first thing that let Newt know something had gone wrong was the shaking. At first it was subtle, like the feeling in his chest at the sound of distant thunder. There was a moment more of calm, and then the earth _heaved._

Newt ran up the stairs as quickly as possible, cracks lancing up the walls around him. A crash sounded somewhere, and all he knew was that he needed to get to Credence. Right. Now.

He didn’t even have to think about it. He knew, deep in his gut, what had happened. He knew that Credence needed him. And he knew that the relief, the same relief that Sudanese girl had described to him, would soon give way to something horrifying.

Whatever Credence had done had destroyed the spell Grindelwald had used to keep them imprisoned. Newt didn’t spare a moment to be grateful; he simply kept running, even as chunks of ceiling began to fall into the hallway. Irritated, he thought longingly of his wand. This would be so much easier if he could just apparate.

Then suddenly the staircase to the second floor was simply _gone._ Newt blinked, confused, in the sudden rush of sunlight. Slowly, he tilted his head backwards, knowing in his gut what he would see.

A swirling mass of glittering darkness, like a contained sandstorm of volcanic ash. And just as deadly. Not just to the people around him, but to Credence himself - the knowledge that the obscurus could consume him at any moment was terrifying Newt to no end.

“My boy. So good to see you’ve finally come around.”

Turning on his heel, Newt glared at the monster standing down the hall - or what remained of it. He looked like the director of magical security, but Newt knew better now.

“Get the fuck away from him,” he spat, running full-tilt towards the man. He knew from experience that wizards wouldn’t expect someone to body check them. They all relied far too much on their wands.

_Not me,_ Newt thought with grim amusement. _Some magical creatures are resistant to spells._

Sure enough, he took Grindelwald down easily.

Immediately, he kicked at Grindelwald’s hand, sending his wand spinning into the debris. It wouldn't incapacitate him entirely, but it would certainly slow down any attempts at retaliation.

Above them Credence _screamed._

Newt felt it as glass shards straight through his eyes. He cried out, his grip on Grindelwald slipping. The dark wizard would surely have broken free, except that he was clearly affected by the outburst as well. His face twisted into a grimace, still far more handsome than someone so evil should have been.

They might have grappled longer, even despite the pain, but at that moment Newt heard the telltale sounds of apparition. Someone cast a protective charm, and then a hand was grabbing him by the neck of his shirt, hauling him away.

“My lord, are you alright?” Asked the man who held Newt captive.

“Perfectly fine,” said Grindelwald. Except the voice came from the wrong spot.

And then the hand disappeared, leaving Newt to crumple to the ground and stare around blearily. He felt like he was a beat behind, completely unsure what had happened.

It wasn’t until he saw Tina that he understood.

There were _two_ Grindelwalds in the room - or, more accurately, there were two Percival Graves. One looked quite a bit greyer than the other, and was leaning on a cane, and surrounded by aurors in uniform, but they were unmistakably meant to be the same man.

Help had arrived, but it may have arrived just a bit too late to matter.

Still, the sight of a friendly face gave Newt the strength to scramble away from his would-be captor. Tina caught him halfway in a completely unexpected _hug,_ of all things. “Thank goodness you’re okay,” she said into his shoulder.

Awkwardly patting her on the back, Newt smiled, just a bit. “Credence won’t be, if you can’t get me up -”

“This is all rather touching,” said a cool voice. “But I do have work to get back to, so. If you will.”

A curse flew from somewhere behind Newt, aiming for one of the other aurors. Without looking, Tina’s arm snapped back, her wand pointing directly for the man who’d been targeted. A silver wall popped up between him and the curse, and then Tina was grinning up at Newt.

“Won’t be a minute, and I’ll have you up there to rescue him,” she said confidently.

For fear of bursting into tears, Newt had to look away. Tina took the opportunity to shove him behind her, towards their allies. Before he could make it to safety, however, someone shouted, “Bombarda!”

Knocked clean into the air, Newt wheeled about once before landing hard on his back. He gasped for breath, struggling for a long, terrifying moment.

Then his flailing hand landed on a long, slender, smooth object.

Opening his eyes, Newt got a close-up look at Grindelwald’s wand for the first time.

Everyone knew that taking a wizard’s wand in a duel meant that it could obey the victor instead of the loser. Looking at it now, Newt found it hard to believe that the wand would ever listen to him. It was lumpy and made of unfamiliar wood and _felt_ hostile. It was nothing like his own, comfortable wand.

But when Newt raised his hand and shot a stunning spell at one of Grindelwald’s underlings, it flew true as could be. Easier than he had thought possible.

As if he instinctively knew what had happened, Grindelwald wheeled about. His eyes were wide, and even though the distance between them was considerable, Newt knew he was terrified. For the first time, Newt had the upper hand.

And even though he was still thinner than he should be, even though his hair was shaggy and he had a new hole in his heart that hadn’t been there before he’d run afoul of Grindelwald’s group, Newt felt himself smiling.

From there the battle was a frenzy. Newt didn’t know how long it lasted, only that he was throwing spells left and right, and at one point ended up back-to-back with Tina, their arms linked together. He didn’t know her well, had only spent a week with her before Kegley had captured him, but they worked well together. He could see why she had chosen to become an auror.

They shot spells back and forth for what felt like an eternity. Stunning spells and shielding spells and sleeping jinxes and stinging hexes until his throat was sore. He vastly preferred this soreness to what he’d gotten used to recently, though.

There came a lull in the fighting, a tiny thing really, but it was enough that Tina shouted at him, “Jump!” Newt obeyed without even thinking about it, and then he was getting a push from below and flying through the air and _oh_ he was moving much quicker than expected -

Reaching out, he caught hold of the crumbling remains of the roof and hauled himself up. He was left at eye-level with Credence, the confused swirling mass that had become of the boy he loved, and for a moment he couldn’t even _breathe._

For all that Newt hated what Credence’s mother had done to him, he was breathtaking. The being that he was right now was pure power. Unadulterated, destructive potential. And yet here he was, a massive cloud of darkness, not destroying a thing. Waiting for Newt.

“Credence,” Newt said softly. “You saved me.”

An ugly, harsh sound rang out. A sob, or a negation.

“It’s okay. I’m not angry with you. It was understandable, Credence. I didn’t expect you to hold out forever.”

“Credence.”

As one, Newt and Credence turned their attention Grindelwald. He was holding himself oddly, as if he had been injured, and Newt felt a vicious flash of triumph. 

“Do you see, Credence? Do you see what they have turned you into? No magic, indeed. They have no empathy as well.”

Gritting his teeth, Newt kept his voice as soothing as possible. “It’s alright now. You’re safe. Just come down here, to me, love. It’ll be alright.”

His poor, poor love was wavering, caught somewhere in the middle between them. At least he wasn’t screaming or lashing out. The Sudanese girl had been so much smaller, so much less powerful, but she had wrought such destruction. Credence was almost eerily still in comparison.

Grindelwald was also entirely too still. Newt’s first instinct was to be fearful of some trick, something he’d kept up his sleeve, but the way Grindelwald’s eyes kept flicking to him gave him pause. Was he being… cautious? Why?

Could it have something to do with Newt grabbing his wand?

Just as Newt began to feel the beginnings of a theory stirring, a third person joined them. One he hadn’t expected in the slightest, although in hindsight he should have.

“Credence,” Percival Graves said, his voice all rough command. Not the sort of voice that would sooth a beast at all. “You’ve done your part. Now come here, and let us take care of the rest.”

Amazingly, he came. Not as a human, though, not coalescing into any recognizable shape.

Instead he rushed downwards in a sandstorm of sudden midnight, infesting Newt’s eyes and nose, invading his ears with a buzzing sound like radio static. It was so disorienting that Graves stumbled, and the only reason Newt didn’t was that he’d known what to expect.

Not knowing what else to do, Newt opened his mouth, inviting the darkness in, and whispered.

He was taking a risk. Like this, Credence could strike him down with a thought. But Newt trusted him, and he hoped that Credence could hear that. Could believe it.

Powerful, beautiful, broken Credence. He formed a face just inches from Newt’s own, and said, “I do believe you.”

And then Newt was holding his beloved in his arms, wrapping him in an embrace he simply _dared_ anyone to try to break.

“Go,” Graves ordered tersely. “The hospital has an open apparition point ready.”

With a nod, Newt tightened his grip on his new wand and Credence both, and _went._

♠♠♠

The hostages taken care of, Graves turned his attention to Grindelwald. There was malice in his eyes, and true hatred, and it sent a shiver down Graves’ spine. In all the time Grindelwald had spent torturing him, he had never looked like that. Never looked like maybe it was personal.

At least with Kegley’s house being an active crime scene, all need for warrants had evaporated. _Always look on the bright side, Graves,_ he reminded himself.

“Do you think you’ve won?” He asked, voice almost too soft to be heard over the din of the battle below. “He is still volatile. Still an obscurial. Still what I have made him.”

“With my face and my wand. When are you planning on giving those back, by the way?”

“Why, I’ll return the first right now. The second, however.” Graves watched furiously as Grindelwald slipped the wand from his pocket. “I think I shall be holding on to for a while longer. Your pet magizoologist is to thank for that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all.”

They were at a standstill. Graves had a wand, of course, but it was a loaner - not what he wanted to use in a duel against such a powerful opponent. And Grindelwald, for his part, seemed happy enough to simply survey the battle below. Graves was satisfied with that, at least; his side was clearly winning, both in numbers and in quality.

“I know when I am beaten,” Grindelwald said suddenly. Graves’ eyes snapped to him, shocked. “You should feel flattered. Few men can make me retreat twice. But do not mistake the battle for the war, my dear friend. We shall see each other again before long.”

Yellow sparks shot into the air from Graves’ wand, and then he was gone.

“Damn fucking coward,” Graves growled as he jumped down to the ground with a muffling charm cushioning the fall. 

Tina was waiting when he landed, a bit disheveled but no worse for wear. “The hospital received them,” she said. “Credence is fine, but Newt isn’t doing too well.”

“Let’s go,” Graves said, reaching for Tina’s shoulder. He’d leave the cleanup to his aurors; they could make the necessary arrests easily, and the wards Kegley had so kindly put up would prevent any no-maj’s from interrupting them.

Apparating together, Graves and Tina landed in a familiar, white tiled room. _Too familiar,_ Graves groused to himself. God, he hated hospitals.

The nurse who would normally greet newcomers wasn’t there. Graves frowned, then marched out of the room with Tina at his heels. He had a feeling he knew where Credence and Newt had been taken.

Sure enough, the intensive care unit was swarming with people. Graves shouldered his way through the throng, not bothering to order people aside. Some of them simply seemed to be trying to get a look at the spectacle, and those he made sure to drive his elbows into as he passed. Tina floundered a bit with her smaller height, but managed to stay close behind.

As soon as he got a clear look at Credence, Graves stopped so abruptly that Tina ran into him.

Pictures, a silhouette, a partially-obscured glance as he apparated away - none of them had prepared him for this. Credence was, to put it simply, beautiful. And he was currently sitting with his shirt off, insisting that he was fine while a nurse applied thick poultice to his back.

That poultice wasn’t nearly thick enough to obscure the bruising, however. And those patterns… for the first time in a long time (since even before Grindelwald had kidnapped him) Graves’ fingers itched for his own flogger. It was lying in a trunk at home with his other toys, and some deep-seated instinct told him that Credence would look even more beautiful submitting.

_Now,_ he told himself firmly. _Is really not the time for that._

On a bed next to Credence, Newt was lying on his stomach. Empty and half-filled potion bottles littered the bedside table. A doctor was talking to him in a slow, measured voice.

Even as Graves watched, that measured voice was interrupted by a terse, “I know a thing or two about medicine. You don’t have to talk to me as if I’m an idiot.”

Beside him, Tina snorted. Her face smoothed into something more professional when Graves glanced down.

Striding forward, Graves took a deep breath to steady himself, then called, “Newt, Credence.”

At the sound of his name Credence whipped around, his eyes flashing white for a moment so short Graves almost thought he’d imagined it. Newt, however, turned his head lazily and smiled. “Tina, Mr. Graves,” he said warmly. “Now that you’re here, you can kindly tell this doctor to sod off. I know how to take care of myself.”

“If you get the dosage wrong -” the doctor started.

“I won’t,” Newt snapped. “Now please _sod off.”_

On his way out the door, the doctor passed rather close to Graves, and whispered, “Please, make sure he complies. He’s sustained a considerable number of injuries, and has been severely malnourished recently.”

“I’ll do my best,” Graves said, though he had no idea why the doctor was asking this of _him._

“Mr. Graves,” said Newt, still sounding bizarrely chipper. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you properly. Also, I may be a bit inhibited because of these painkillers, but I am by no means deaf.”

The doctor hurried on his way rather quickly after that. Thankfully, he shooed away the gawking crowd as he did. Which left Graves, Tina, Credence, Newt, and a nurse with very pinched lips alone together. Well, it wasn’t _quite_ the most awkward meeting Graves had ever seen.

“It’s funny,” Newt mused. “But I didn’t even notice the injuries during the battle. I was too busy trying to get to Credence.”

At the sound of his name, a bit of the tension melted off of Credence’s shoulders. Just looking at him, the way he softened as he gazed at Newt, Graves already knew a bit of what was between them. This wasn’t simple bonding between captives. This was something infinitely more precious.

Unfortunately, he was about to ruin a bit of that softness. He only hoped it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Speaking of,” he began. “Grindelwald told me that he couldn’t return my wand because of something you had done. Any idea what he was referring to?”

Confused, Newt shook his head. “I don’t - oh! I took his wand!”

Grabbing at the bedside table, he nearly succeeded in shattering several bottles before his hand closed around its target. “I wrestled it away from him shortly before your arrival. Could he be using yours as his spare now?”

_Yes,_ Graves was about to say. _That does seem likely._ But the words caught on his tongue, which seemed stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Newt,” Tina said, sounding strangled. “That’s the elder wand.”

Yelping, he dropped it onto the ground. Credence looked between them all uncomprehendingly, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he settled on a quiet, “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Graves said dryly. “That our young Newt has just garnered us a much more useful weapon than we had dared hope for. And that we cannot simply send you on your way when your stay in the hospital is over.”

Warily looking back and forth between Graves and Newt’s pale face, Credence nodded. Graves thought he might say something more, but nothing was forthcoming.

Awkward silence grew between them, until it was broken by a polite cough from Tina. “Newt was staying with me prior to things going south,” she said. “I’d be happy to take in Credence as well, if need be.”

“I don’t know if I can allow that,” Graves said. Three pairs of eyes, ranging from furious to cautious, snapped to him. He only planted his feet more firmly in response. “No offence Tina, but I know where you live and you don’t have the space. Or the wards.”

“So…” Newt chewed his bottom lip, which was rather distracting. Merlin, both the boys were gorgeous, weren’t they? “Will we be kept in MACUSA? Do they have guest rooms or something?”

“Not as such,” Graves admitted. “I will have to fill out quite a bit of paperwork to do this, of course, but my home is open to you. If you’d like.”

Here, he looked only at Credence, and lowered his voice a bit. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to accept. For any reason at all.”

“I-I’m okay,” Credence said, shocking them all into silence. “If Newt is coming too.”

“Yeah.” Newt stared at Credence, something unreadable in his eyes. “But I’ll need to stop by Tina’s place to pick up my creatures.”

“Your creatures?”

“Aha, sir, about that…”


	8. Warm Front

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comfort~ So much comfort~ We’re finally here everyone! There’s sex in this chapter and it’s actually 100% consensual sweet and gentle sex. I planned for it to be later, but Newt is an impatient boy who didn’t want to wait. Not much further to go now, only two chapters, but I hope it’s been worth it for all of my readers. It certainly has been for me.

The night was dark, but never quite still. The hospital room always had people wandering in and out of it, and the curtains drawn around Credence’s bed often shifted with the wind of their passing. It made him shiver, gave him the feeling of being watched by something unseen, but he wasn’t about to draw back the curtains to check.

Worse, the bed felt too big and too empty without Newt in it. Credence had gotten used to sharing the bed in the basement with him, and now he could barely remember how he used to stand sleeping alone in Mary Lou’s home. But he wasn’t about to ask Newt to join him, either.

So Credence lay awake, and desperately tried not to think instead. It was a futile endeavor.

Giving into the obscurus had been so _strange._ It had hurt - there had been air between the pieces of him, gaps where there shouldn’t be. It was unsettling, but the pain had been distant, and the _power…_ Credence tried not to dwell on that. Or else he might remember what he’d been tempted to _do_ with that power, and then he’d feel sick again.

A soft scuffling sound distracted him from his mind for a moment, and then his curtains were being drawn aside. In the gloom, Credence could barely make out Newt’s smiling face.

Before he could say anything Credence was sitting up, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t be up and about,” he whispered. “Your injuries -”

“Hush now,” Newt said, climbing into his bed. “You know as well as I do that I’m on the mend. Now, I believe we have some unfinished business.”

“We do?” Credence couldn’t help the nervousness sneaking into his voice. Did Newt not want him anymore? Now that they were free, now that Credence had set the monster inside him free and killed someone…

“We do,” Newt confirmed. And then he was kissing Credence.

It was closed-lip but insistent, pressure that didn’t go away even when Credence made a surprised sound and leaned back. Even when Credence pressed his palms to Newt’s shoulders. Even when Credence simply _couldn’t_ kiss back for long, almost endless seconds.

And when that pressure did go away, it was only so that Newt could lean their foreheads together. “I love you,” he said. It was the second time he’d told Credence that.

For the first time, Credence could respond. “I love you too, I think,” he said. He sounded frightened. Newt didn’t care.

Their next kiss was a bit more equal. Credence tilted his head, opened his mouth a bit in a silent plea. It worked, and he soon had Newt’s tongue inside him, stroking him in a gentle, attentive way, almost tickling across the roof of his mouth. Credence made another muffled sound, this one much less surprised than the last.

Newt stroked his sides to sooth him as he pulled away again. “I want you,” he murmured, breath puffing warm against Credence’s lips. “But you have to promise me you’ll be quiet.”

“I promise,” Credence said immediately. Newt smiled, indulgent and sweet, and pecked his lips.

Then he was leaning over, rummaging through the little table that sat at Credence’s bedside. He pulled out a glass jar filled with some green liquid Credence didn’t recognize, then tapped it with his new wand and said an unfamiliar incantation. The liquid turned warm, orangey-gold, and Newt’s face did something odd before he scowled at his wand.

“This thing works entirely too well,” he muttered. Credence put his hand on top of Newt’s, prompting another smile from the redhead.

Setting the wand and jar aside, Newt went back to kissing Credence. They slid down the bed slowly, until Credence was laying flat and Newt was on top of him. It was a comforting weight. Holding him still without restraining him utterly.

Slowly, Newt slipped his hands under Credence’s shirt. Each step of the way he paused, giving Credence enough time to say ‘no’ or squirm away, but Credence only arched into the touches. He _did_ want this. A piece of him had been afraid, he realized, but with three words Newt had decimated any lingering worries.

Now there was only heat and building desire and, yes, love. Credence couldn’t help but doubt his own ability to feel something so pure, but he knew better than to doubt Newt.

Nimble fingers plucked at his nipples, making him gasp. Newt broke from his mouth to nibble the side of his neck, and the three points of sensation combined to be almost too much. Credence felt his hips buck, not hard enough to dislodge Newt but hard enough to rock him, to make him bite down a bit harder in surprise and _oh._

As soon as Credence moaned Newt was kissing him again, light and feathery and gentle. “Hush, hush, you don’t want to be caught do you?”

Credence shook his head, but couldn’t stop himself from whimpering. The risk of getting caught shouldn’t have made everything more heady, he knew, he was _bad_ and _wrong_ for liking it; he just couldn’t help it.

Those self-loathing thoughts threatened to dampen Credence’s enthusiasm, but then Newt was sucking hard at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, and he couldn’t care about much more than that.

Newt slipped a hand between Credence’s legs, and he couldn’t care about anything at _all._ His mind went blank, it felt so unexpectedly good, and he was afraid for a moment that he would come just from that. But no, he didn’t, and Newt was still rocking against him and Credence could feel him through his pants. They were both so hard.

“Hush,” Newt said again, and Credence became aware that he was making horrible mewling sounds. He bit his tongue to stop them.

His shirt was already pushed up under his armpits, so he reasoned that he had no reason to be embarrassed when Newt worked his pants down around his thighs. But still he flushed, so hot that he was sure the color was obvious even in the dark. Newt looked down at him, something wondering in his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” he said.

Gazing up at the man kneeling over him, Credence could only shake his head. “No, you are.”

A gentle hand cradled Credence’s cheek. It was a hand that was used to handling baby animals, birds with broken, hollow bones. “You don’t owe me anything,” Newt said. “Only give me what you want to give.”

Courage felt a long way away, but Credence grasped for it anyway. “You’re the one giving me something. I - please, Newt, I want you inside me.”

Something feral overcame Newt’s gaze, and then he was kissing Credence again. There were more teeth this time, and it felt a bit wild - but Credence wasn’t afraid. There was a bit of wildness inside Newt. He already knew that. Believed that it was why he understood those creatures so well. Loved it.

Loved it even more when it resulted in Newt opening the top of the jar, dipping his fingers inside, and then bringing them between Credence’s legs. Credence tried to spread them wider, but they were caught in his pants. He kicked his legs, frustrated, and Newt chuckled softly against his shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart.”

Shocked at the endearment, Credence could only do what Newt said. The first finger pressed slickly into him in one smooth thrust, a feeling that was familiar and not all at once.

Even though Credence knew from experience that he could take two fingers right from the beginning, Newt went slow. He spent long moments simply rocking his finger in and out, twisting it, drawing a more languid kind of pleasure from Credence’s body. It was becoming harder and harder to keep quiet, but Credence could muffle his sounds against the side of Newt’s head, soft hair tickling his cheeks, so he thought it was alright.

More than alright, really. With Newt over him, blocking out the hospital that had seemed so hostile, Credence felt safer than he had in a long time. Not small, exactly. But certainly safe. He thought that was intentional, but the way Newt was breathing hard, the way the hand still groping Credence’s chest shook, well… it was possible Newt wasn’t thinking too clearly at the moment.

Credence didn’t mind. He felt almost proud of his ability to make Newt lose even a bit of control.

Pressing a second finger in, Newt whispered to Credence again, “You’re beautiful.”

Unable to find the words to respond, Credence simply threaded his fingers through Newt’s hair and kissed him under his chin. It was an easy motion. The kind Credence could see becoming a habit, if Newt let him.

But, even relaxed as he was, Credence couldn’t help but shy away from thoughts like that. Thoughts of the future. Much safer to bask in the moment, in Newt’s shiver as Credence stroked his spine, the fingers scissoring inside him and sending sparks dancing under his skin.

He thought that Newt might be able to literally make him glow. There was plenty of magic between the two of them, after all.

Once he had a third finger inside Credence, Newt began seeking out his prostate. And if Credence had thought it was hard to stay quiet before, he’d had _no_ idea. He wasn’t used to being told to keep his voice down, and he wasn’t used to the pleasure, and combined it was nearly impossible, the sounds spilling out of his throat filthy and obscene and making it plain what they were doing.

Carefully, Newt pressed two fingertips to Credence’s lips. “Would it, ah, do you think it would be helpful if you could, that is, would you like to suck on my fingers?”

The awkward wording made Credence smile, right before he parted his lips and lapped at the tips of Newt’s fingers. Newt made a throaty noise, though he cut it off in the middle. His fingers were a comforting weight on Credence’s tongue.

 _He’s filling me up from both ends,_ Credence thought. And there was something in that, the ownership of it, how badly Newt clearly wanted him. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Apparently the bucking of his hips conveyed that well enough, and Newt was motivated to get a move on. He pulled his fingers out of Credence’s ass, dipping them into the jar one last time so he could slick his cock. Credence wanted to watch him stroke himself, but the angle was wrong; he was, however, able to see the way his eyelashes fluttered. That was certainly lovely enough to make up for it.

Tugging Credence’s pants out of the way at last, Newt gripped his thighs to guide them open. His hands were strong and sure, and Credence whimpered. He wanted Newt’s fingers back in his mouth already, and they’d only been out for moments.

Slowly, Newt pressed into him. He leaned down to kiss Credence as he did so, but the kiss was a pathetic distraction in the face of the _feeling._ Newt wasn’t huge, no, but he was _different. Special._ It felt like he was hollowing Credence out, shaping him so that he was a perfect fit. It felt like being loved.

Once again Newt had to fill Credence’s mouth with his fingers just to keep him from alerting the nurses. Gratefully, Credence suckled on his digits, swirled his tongue between them in a way that had Newt’s breath catching.

He lost the coordination necessary to do that when Newt began rocking his hips. It was all he could do to keep his teeth from biting down as Newt thrust in and out. So slowly, so thoroughly, nearly pulling out each time. The pleasure was so poignant that Credence’s eyes were tearing up.

Desperately he clutched at the sheets, Newt’s hair, his shoulders. Anything he could reach. His legs wrapped around Newt’s reflexively, as if he wanted to hold Newt in place. He almost did. It was so _much._

No one but Newt had ever held Credence so tenderly. No one had ever made him feel as though coming from this feeling would be something good. Not sinful.

“Credence, Credence, Credence,” Newt breathed. It reminded Credence of a prayer.

His free hand slipped between Credence’s legs, and the slightest brush of his fingers set Credence off. He came over Newt’s palm and his own belly, the wet warmth making him flush. Newt suddenly felt, impossibly, _more_ intense inside of him.

When Newt moved to pull out, however, Credence tightened his legs. “You n-need to finish,” he said fervently, slurring around Newt’s fingers. “Pleash.”

Even though it was garbled, Newt understood. He shortened his thrusts so that he was practically grinding their hips together, burried so deep it didn’t feel like he could ever be taken away. Then he was following Credence over the edge, a pulsing heat inside of him that Credence _knew_ would be part of him forever. Even if Newt one day decided he couldn’t love someone so broken, Credence would always have this memory.

The smell of antiseptic, and the hushed footsteps of nurses, and Newt breathing hard into his ear. The taste of Newt’s salty sweat on his tongue. The feel of Newt pulling out of him so, so, _so_ gently.

They cleaned up in near silence, their eyes catching one another occasionally in a shy almost-dance. The feral look was gone from Newt, and Credence was reminded of the sweet, gentle, somewhat awkward wizard he had first met in that basement.

For once, Credence’s mind was silent as he drifted off to sleep. And though he had no nightmares to wake him, he felt perfectly alert in the morning.

Opening his eyes, Credence saw Newt sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked to have been awake for a while, already in his day clothes and out of his sex-rumpled hospital pajamas. “Morning gorgeous,” he said.

“G-good morning s-sweetheart,” Credence said, the pet name strange on his tongue. It made Newt flush and smile, however, so it was well worth it.

“I’m perfectly healthy, and Mr. Graves has been by to pick up our things. There’s only one minor, ah, hiccup.”

“What is it?” Credence tried (and failed) not to let his stomach drop at the possibilities.

Talking slowly, as if he needed to pick his words very carefully, Newt explained, “The client that got caught in your, that is, the obscurus. Her funeral is today and, well, Tina told me I should offer you the chance to go.”

“She wasn’t a client,” Credence said. It was all he could say. His heart seemed to have stopped.

Did he want to go? He wasn’t sure he did. Did he need to? Yes.

“Oh,” Newt sounded almost as stunned as he did. “Well, in any case, I can go with you if you -”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

There was a moment of hesitation as Newt peered into his eyes. Thankfully, he didn’t second guess Credence. He simply nodded, picked up his wand, and stood.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go together,” he said gently. “You’re getting used to apparition by now, aren’t you?”

Apparition was the teleportation, right? In that case, Credence didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sickening feeling. He nodded anyway, and Newt smiled down at him. “Get yourself dressed and ready to go. We won’t be seen once we get there, don’t worry.”

He did as Newt said, moving as quickly as he could. He wanted to get this over with. A piece of him even wanted to be seen, to have an excuse to run away and hide afterwards. He had a bad feeling about this. But he knew he had to go.

All too soon (not nearly soon enough) Credence was holding Newt’s hand, and they were off.

Outside the day was entirely too sunny. That was Credence’s first impression; his second was that spring had arrived when he’d been too busy in that basement to notice. The flowers seemed incongruous next to the graves that lay before them.

“Just a second,” Newt said, when Credence made to walk towards the cluster of black-clothed people at one end of the graveyard. Credence paused, and noticed Newt giving him an odd look. “Expecto patronum,” Newt whispered.

To Credence’s shock, a dragon burst from his wand. It was only slightly larger than a human, but it looked ferocious and terrifying. “Tell Percival Graves to pick us up from the graveyard in half an hour,” Newt told the dragon. It nodded its silvery head, then took off in a dazzling flash. Next, he tapped Credence on the arm and murmured, “Disillusio. There, now they won’t be able to see you.”

“W-what was that dragon?” Credence asked, shivering at the feeling of something cold dripping down his body.

Before answering Newt cast the same spell on himself that he had used on Credence. “It was a patronus,” Newt explained. “Each wizard’s form is different. I could teach it to you, if you’d like.”

“Perhaps,” Credence said. His curiosity was significantly dampened by the people he could feel, like a malevolent force, behind him.

Unable to bear it any longer, Credence marched off towards the open grave. People were already dispersing, he realized. They must have arrived near the end of the funeral. _Perfectly fine with me,_ he told himself. _This way I won’t have to see the faces of her loved ones._

Still, he noticed a child in the crowd as he approached. Her tear-stained face looked so much like Modesty’s that he had to stare for long, breathless moments before he could convince himself that it wasn’t her. Newt touched his arm softly, but Credence flinched away from it. Now was possibly the worst time for comfort.

Her gravestone read “Linda Bogsworth.” It was a terrible name for a woman who had been so beautiful. So in-control. She hadn’t seemed like a bad person, and it made him wonder why she’d worked that particular job. She hadn’t relished hurting him, had she? And that alone made her so much kinder than many of the people Credence had known.

“I’m sorry for killing you.” At his shoulder, he heard Newt take in a sharp breath. But it was true.

No good would come from denying the truth. So Credence would face this ugliness inside himself. He had killed. He had relished killing.

For long minutes, he simply stood there. Like a belated vigil over her corpse. Granted, when he’d killed her he hadn’t actually had eyes to watch over her with. The irony almost made him snort, but he knew Newt would hear the hint of hysteria bubbling under the surface if he made a sound. So he simply stood, and waited, and felt the warm breeze washing over the freshly turned dirt that covered Linda Bogsworth.

His mind turned on itself viciously. Where he was afraid to imagine a future where he and Newt were happy, Credence found it all too easy to imagine Linda in life. Holding the child in her arms (was that her daughter? neice?) and struggling into a corset on her own (it seemed difficult to do) and, and, and. She hadn’t been much older than Credence.

Graves arrived to find him still there, Newt shifting from foot to foot awkwardly behind him. Credence knew that Newt was struggling to find the words to say, _We need to leave._

“Goodbye,” Credence said. _I’ll be back,_ he promised silently.

He turned, and left her behind for the man whose face he knew so well. The man whose home he’d be living in. The man whose mind he hoped to learn. The man whose heart he longed to, someday, trust.

“Right,” Graves said awkwardly. “I have a car waiting, if you’d like? The hospital told me you’re not to apparate.”

Sheepishly, Newt nodded. He also studiously avoided Credence’s eyes for the duration of the walk to the car. Once they actually got in, however, Credence found that it was hard to be angry. He’d never been in a car before, and the rumble of it under him was thrilling and mildly terrifying all at once.

When he looked up from staring dubiously out the window, he saw Newt smiling at him. A tension he’d carried since they had arrived in the graveyard lifted off his shoulders, just a bit.

“So,” Graves began. “We’ll be staying at my family’s estate. It’s a little ways outside the city, and we won’t be arriving until afternoon. If there’s something specific you’d like to eat for lunch, now’s the time to ask for it.”

“A hamburger. I’ve never had one before,” Newt answered immediately. Credence looked at him, bemused, but he seemed utterly genuine.

“Hamburgers it is then,” Graves replied. He didn’t seem to know what to say; Credence empathized. Between the two of them and Newt’s natural tendency to be quiet (when not running his mouth off about his creatures), the car ride was getting uncomfortable fast.

It was a preferable kind of uncomfortable to Kegley’s home, however. Preferable to Mary Lou’s too. Credence realized that he _could_ speak here, if he wished to, and not risk punishment. The feeling was novel and more than a bit bizarre.

“I’ve never seen someone send a patronus to deliver a message before,” Graves said, once the silence had become truly oppressive. “Nor have I seen a dragon patronus. You’re a rather unusual man, Scamander.”

Coughing, Newt looked out his own window. “You’re not alone in that. My particular patronus is a species even I am not familiar with.”

“Really?” Credence asked, despite himself. He’d begun to think that Newt knew every magical creature under the sun.

“Really,” Newt confirmed. “I’m sure that it’s from a mountainous region, but I’ve yet to actually come across it. The size hints at particularly high altitudes…”

For the rest of the ride, there wasn’t much chance for awkward silences. It was enough of a distraction that Credence didn’t notice the size of the house they were approaching until they had already arrived. When he got his first glimpse of his new home, his mouth actually fell open, and his eyes felt fit to pop out of his head.

Graves had called it an estate. Credence hadn’t really thought about what that meant, but even if he had he wouldn’t have any frame of reference for something like this. He was used to a dozen people sharing a single apartment, to orphans crammed into churches like sardines in a can. This was a degree of decadence he couldn’t have imagined.

It wasn’t just the size of the building - it was the way it _sprawled._ Ornate, dark wood trimmed every inch of the massive thing. And it was surrounded by manicured gardens too, more greenery than Credence had ever seen outside of a park. All of this, and how many of people were currently living there? It couldn’t possibly be only the three of them.

Humming some tune to himself, Newt opened the door to the car. Credence couldn’t help but look between him and the manor in disbelief. Didn’t he see how ridiculous this was?

“Er, I’m sorry I forgot to ask earlier,” Graves said. “But do you have anything you’d like me to get for you, Credence? Goldstein dropped off Scamander’s belongings, but yours are still at the no-maj church, to the best of my knowledge.”

His words felt rather like the invisibility charm had. Credence didn’t know what kind of expression he had on his face, but Graves’ went thunderous in response, and Newt reached to hold his hand tightly. “You won’t have to see any of them,” Graves promised him. “If you want your old things, I can get them for you.”

“No, thank you,” Credence choked out. His voice sounded odd. “At least, not for today.”

“Perfectly reasonable,” Graves said. But he sounded odd too, and he didn’t say anything more as he led them up the front steps of his home.

Already the day had been so _much._ Credence clung to Newt’s hand, unable to say no to comfort any longer. He was too weak to live without it. He mostly just wanted to lie down, to hide under the covers, and perhaps kiss Newt again if he wanted it.

“Do you want separate rooms?” Graves asked casually. “I don’t particularly mind either way.”

“One is enough,” Newt said confidently. Credence felt a flower unfurling in his chest; yes, he did love Newt. And no, he didn’t particularly know Graves well yet. But he didn’t know any of the magical world well, except for its ugliest parts. He would be okay. He would learn again. He’d certainly learned harder lessons, in harder places.


	9. Dogwood Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. So I may have done a dumb. At least I call myself out by also calling out my dumb PoV characters though. Hey, that’s what happens with things that get posted as they’re written; you end up with weird little foibles.

First thing in the morning, Newt and Credence were out the door (or out the fireplace, as it were) and in the Goldstein sisters’ living room. Newt had only barely been persuaded away from visiting them the night before, but his injuries were hurting him badly enough by the end of the day that he had no choice but to acquiesce.

Graves was unable to join them, though Credence had the impression that it was because he was doing his utmost to turn a blind eye to the infamous suitcase. He promised to meet them at the wand maker’s later that day; Credence wasn’t looking forward to that particular appointment.

He was, however, certainly looking forward to meeting all the creatures Newt had told him so much about. Picket had been pantomiming up a storm from Newt’s pocket; Credence was just glad that he hadn’t accidentally squashed the little bowtruckle when he’d been… less than careful with Kegley’s house.

In all the commotion of getting free, and then the night after in the hospital, Credence had almost forgotten Pickett. From the surprised look on Newt’s face when he crawled out of Newt’s pocket and into Graves’ hallway, Newt had almost forgotten him too.

But it felt fitting that he was making his presence known now that they were finally going to see his friends again. Newt even joked that maybe he’d want to go back to his nice, peaceful tree.

The Goldsteins’ living room was strange. There was a pair of knitting needles clicking away by the fireplace, but no one there to knit with them. Clothing folded itself in the armchair to the side. It was, in a word, _magical._ Unexpected bitterness welled up at the thought (Credence couldn’t help but wish that _this_ had been his introduction to magic) but he swallowed it down quickly.

“Newt!” A small, blonde woman cried. “I’ve missed you, oh.” She was smiling, a sugary-sweet expression that somehow had Credence reluctant to meet her eyes.

“Queenie,” Newt greeted her back. “How’ve the creatures been.”

“I should’ve known you’d wanna hear about them first,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “Most of them are fine, sweetheart. They missed you.”

“The occamies? They were so little when - wait, _most_ of them?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but then her eyes snapped to Credence. He abruptly looked at the floor, though he still caught a flash of her horrified face. “I, ah,” she said. “I think I need to sit down. I’m so sorry honey.”

At first Credence thought the apology was meant for Newt, but as she lowered herself onto her overstuffed couch she didn’t look away from him. He could feel her gaze on his skin, prickling and uncomfortable. She took deep breaths, and then whispered something too soft for either of them to hear.

“Queenie?” Newt’s voice was high with worry. Credence had never heard it like that over anyone except Credence himself.

“One of the babies didn’t make it,” she said at last. “I kept his body in a stasis spell.”

A choked, mourning sound made its way out of Newt’s throat. Voice breaking, he asked, “Where is he?”

“Kitchen - “ No sooner was the word out of her mouth than Newt was stumbling past her. Credence followed on his heels, heart in his throat, guiltily eager to be away from Queenie.

His hands shaking, Newt pulled open cabinet after cabinet. Credence wanted to help but he wasn’t sure how to without getting in the way; then it didn’t matter, because Newt was freezing and staring and tears were welling up in his eyes.

“My poor girl,” Newt murmured. _The chick must’ve been female,_ Credence realized. _Queenie was wrong._

As gently as if he was holding a soap bubble, Newt lifted the tiny corpse out of the cupboard. Credence knew that her size wasn’t indicative of her age, but the fluffy, soft feathers… His heart ached, even if he didn’t feel the urge to cry the way Newt was. He hadn’t ever had a chance to know her. Newt had.

It felt wrong to see Newt crying over the occamy. After everything he’d gone through, Credence thought he deserved a break. Some joy, or if he couldn’t have that, at least peace.

Reaching out hesitantly, Credence cradled the back of Newt’s neck in his palm. He couldn’t seem to move his fingers properly, so massaging or petting was out of the question, but _this_ Credence could do. Just a single point of support. A reminder that Newt wasn’t alone. That his pain was seen and recognized and validated.

“Sweetheart,” Queenie said behind them. She sounded close to tears. Credence didn’t turn around and risk seeing her expression.

Newt cradled the occamy for a while longer before his breathing evened out of its shuddering, broken rhythm. He turned to Credence, and gave him possibly the most heartbreaking smile he’d ever seen. “Let’s go check on the others,” he said. “I’m sure Queenie and Tina looked after them very well.”

With a nod Credence withdrew his hand. Queenie led them to her guest bedroom, which had a nondescript suitcase sitting on the floor. Just the sight of it was enough to make Credence’s heart rate pick up; he’d heard a lot about it, and despite Newt’s dampened enthusiasm he was still eager to see the inside.

The suitcase opened with a quiet _click_ the moment Newt’s hand touched it. Then a small, furry, black ball was barrelling out of it, slamming into Newt’s knees and climbing his body rapidly. Credence sucked in an alarmed breath, prepared to shout a warning or _reducto_ or _anything,_ but then he heard Newt.

Laughter. Laughter bright and relieved and so _happy,_ so purely good.

“You little rascal!” He said, catching the furry creature in his hands and plopping a kiss on its head. “I hope you’ve been behaving yourself while I was gone.”

“He may have snatched a few trinkets, but they were easy enough to get back,” Queenie said airily.

Tickling the creature’s belly, Newt gave Queenie a grateful smile. “I still can’t believe you did so much for a near complete stranger.”

“No one’s a stranger after I’ve met them,” she chastised. “Not even you, Credence.”

Those implications were… not something Credence was comfortable with. He felt the obscurus roil inside him. “Let’s go down and check on the others,” he said quickly.

“Yes, yes. Can you hold niffler please?” Newt handed Credence the black, furry ball without waiting for a response, then stepped into the suitcase. It looked as if he was descending a staircase, but Credence couldn’t see clearly. The small creature in his arms was sniffing at his chin, crawling up in his space.

A soft giggle came from behind him, and then Queenie’s delicate hand was grabbing his elbow. “Follow me,” she said. Helpless, Credence could only do as she said. He stumbled down the steep stairs, sneezing when the niffler’s fur got in his nose.

His first impression of the suitcase was that it was very _Newt._ They were standing in a shack, quite a crowded thing between the three of them and the myriad of things cluttering every surface in there. It even had a bed, and Credence had a vivid mental image of Newt trekking through forests, camping inside the very container he kept his creatures in.

As soon as Newt opened the door to the creatures’ enclosures, however, Credence’s mind went blank. He’d known, in the abstract, that magic was amazing. He himself had become a spectacle of the kind muggles could only dream of.

But this, this was... 

“Amazing,” he whispered.

Queenie’s hand squeezed his arm gently. Newt turned back to him, something gentle in his eyes, and said, “It is.”

Just the _size_ was impressive. Credence couldn’t see the end of the enclosures, and he could hardly believe that it was all contained within a simple, leather suitcase. Then there were the enclosures themselves, glowing and verdant and sometimes _floating,_ and that wasn’t even mentioning the creatures.

Credence had thought he loved Newt before this. But now, looking at Newt’s shining face as he was greeted by a giant snake, he realized he’d had no idea what love felt like. Now he really didn’t want to get a wand, if it meant he’d have to leave the suitcase. He could stand here and watch Newt bask in his element forever.

Unbidden, he remembered a quote he’d often whispered to himself at night. It was the kind of thing Mary Lou couldn’t fault him over, and it brought him comfort when he was cold and lonely. He hadn’t thought of it for months, but now it leapt, fully formed, to his lips.

_Like an apple tree among the wild trees, so is my lover among the young men. In his shade I take pleasure in sitting, and his fruit is sweet to my taste. He has brought me to the house of whine; his banner raised over me is love. His left arm is beneath my head, his right embraces me._

♠♠♠

Graves checked his watch again, even though he knew what it was going to say already. 1:05, meaning that Newt and Credence were late, but not unforgivably late. He tapped his fingers against his cane, and didn’t make eye contact with Thiago Quintana.

Of the wandmakers in America, Graves was fairly certain that Quintana was the best match for Credence. A Wolfe wand was too wild, a Jonker wand too tame. And just the thought of a Beauvais wand in the hands of an obscurus made him shudder. Now if only Quintana wasn’t so damn _weird,_ and if only Credence and Newt would hurry the fuck up.

It wasn’t that Graves was an awkward man. He simply preferred not to have to make small talk. He liked structure, and discipline, and the straightforwardness of Aurors. It was also why he preferred a… stricter ruleset in bed.

Not that he had many bed partners to indulge with. He was far too busy with work, and then with being kidnapped, and _then_ with rescuing his new housemates. New housemates who he already knew slept together. New housemates who would look fantastic in matching collars.

A snicker shook him out of his thoughts. Thaigo Quintana stood behind his counter, waving his wand in absentminded figure-eight patterns. Percival frowned at him and reminded himself that the man was _not_ a legilimens. It wasn’t a particularly comforting reminder.

Halfway through Quintana’s next laugh, the flames in his hearth flared brilliant green, and the source of Percival’s preoccupation stepped through.

Luckily, they seemed to have left the blasted suitcase behind - either in the Goldsteins’ apartment, or in Percival’s home. He was perfectly happy having exactly no idea where it was. Tina had explained to him Newt’s position as magizoologist, and Percival had made the executive decision to keep his nose firmly out of it.

“Careful,” Newt cautioned. “Watch your step.” He had a hand on Credence’s shoulder, all familiarity and softness.

Credence followed the advice literally, keeping his eyes on his feet and his head down as he entered. Quintana whistled, hopping onto the counter with a light in his eyes.

“So you’re the one who needs a wand!” He held his hand out to Credence, winking at the startled look on the boy’s face. “Your magic doesn’t know what to do with itself, does it?”

“Um,” Credence looked to Newt, then to Graves, then helplessly back to Quintana. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Pleased to meet you too! Now, where was I?” Quintana tapped the tip of his wand to his chin.

Rubbing a palm over his face, Graves tried to resist the urge to sigh heavily. “Would you bring us a selection?” He grit out.

“Right!” Quintana gave Percival a blinding smile, then jumped back to the floor. Credence flinched away from him, but before Graves could try to comfort him Newt was already there stroking Credence’s hair. Quintana, seemingly oblivious, sashayed deeper into the store.

They quickly lost sight of Quintana; his shop was full of high, crowded shelving, laid out like a labyrinth. Graves knew better than to wander around in there. Instead he waited, and tried to ignore the way Credence relaxed into Newt’s touch. To ignore the attentiveness with which Newt stroked his hair.

Just as Graves was beginning to feel antsy about how long Quintana was taking, the long-haired wizard emerged with both arms full of boxes. He let them spill from his hands and all over the floor; the nicks and scratches Graves had noticed on the boxes made much more sense now. Credence stared down at them, clearly at a loss.

“Well? Pick one up!” Quintana nudged a box with the tip of his scuffed shoe.

Hesitantly, Credence kneeled down and lifted the lid off the nearest box. Quintana whistled as he removed the wand - a plain thing, long and pale and slender. “Pine and white river monster,” he said admiringly. “I like that combination.”

“White river monster?” That was Newt, eyes wide and on the balls of his feet. “How did you catch it? I’ve been searching for -”

Before he could say another word Quintana had a wand pointed as his throat.

And Graves had a wand pointed at Quintana.

“I’ll explain once this errand is over, Newt,” Graves said calmly. “For now, know that it’s best not to ask about that.”

Quintana’s eyes gave off an eerie, green glow. Newt couldn’t seem to look away from them, but he nodded slowly. Quintana lowered his wand, and smiled a smile that was more teeth than any kind of joy.

“Terribly sorry about that. Credence, be a dear and wave that wand, why don’t you?”

When Graves looked back at Credence, he found himself frozen in place. Quintana might be a bit unhinged, but when Credence looked like that… Graves didn’t think he’d ever forget the swirling mass of black that the boy was when they first met.

“Oh!” Exclaimed Quintana. “I can’t see!”

Jumping, Credence dropped the wand. Quintana didn’t seem perturbed, but the display sent a shiver down Percival’s spine.

“Not that one then. Go on, try another,” Quintana encouraged.

Credence was a bit more hesitant when he waved the second wand. It quickly filled the air with the smell of ozone anyway, and Newt sneezed three times before Credence could put the wand down and try a third one.

At first it was interesting to Graves to see all the ways Credence’s magic manifested its rejection. But the pile of discarded wand boxes grew, and slowly even Quintana’s smile faded. Eventually, they were left with a large stack of duds, and Credence’s eyes were welling with tears. Newt whispered comfort to him, but behind his back Quintana made eye contact with Graves. For once, they seemed to be on the same wavelength.

“Bother bother bother,” Quintana muttered. “The spines just aren’t going to take to you, are they?”

“D-does that mean that I can’t get a wand?”

“No, not at all. It just means a bit of a bother for me.” Scowling, Quintana gathered the wands and disappeared into the stacks once more.

When he returned he had only three boxes. He set these on the counter, much more careful than he’d been with the others. Wordlessly, he gestured for Credence to pick up the leftmost one. With badly trembling hands, Credence did.

Instantly Graves _knew._ The lights in the room dimmed, and he heard a sound, faint and distant. Bells. They chimed for only a moment, but it was enough for Credence to take a deep breath, to go still and calm.

“Thestral, of course it was thestral,” Quintana whined. “She said it would be! I still don’t see why though, an affinity for death isn’t unique to thestrals.”

“So it’s a thestral hair core?” Newt said, looking down at Credence’s new wand. It was shorter than most Quintana wands, and carved with a gentle, swirling pattern. “What sort of wood is it?”

“Dogwood,” Quintana answered casually.

Sudden sobbing shattered through the room. Credence had both hands covering his face, but it didn’t hide the tears Graves knew were spilling. He wondered if they were in relief, or in fear, or something else.

Percival knew better than to ask. He paid Quintana in silence, then left the man to his muttering. Together with Newt, he guided Credence into the fireplace.

Stepping through and into the foyer of his home had never been so satisfying. He almost, almost walked into the hallway that would lead to his office purely on reflex. But Credence was still crying, and Newt’s voice had taken on a helpless tone.

With an awkward cough, Graves said, “I suppose you have the same wand core now.”

Confused, Newt shook his head, “No, my wand is -”

“The elder wand, remember? Thestral core, though the wood is different.”

“Oh,” Credence looked up, meeting Graves’ eyes again. This time, with red-lined eyes and his mouth slightly open, he didn’t look like the force of nature he was. He looked inviting, sweet, _small._ Percival felt his face soften, as Credence murmured, “Thank you.”

For dinner, Percival thought he’d ask the house elves to serve them steaks. Credence and Newt had both looked positively ravenous when they’d had their hamburgers, but he couldn’t help but want to do something _more._ Maybe it was a desire to show off - something he hadn’t felt in quite a while. He simply wanted to do something nice for these two men who had suffered so much already.

♠♠♠

By the time Credence felt ready, the moon was high in the sky and Newt was fast asleep. He felt a bit bad about it, because truly, he’d wanted to not have to do this alone.

But he knew that it was now or never. That the strength he’d barely found inside himself might not last. Just in case, he left his wand behind. Gave himself something to come back to.

In the foyer he hesitated, just for a moment. But he’d heard that he could only go to fireplaces that were connected in some sort of network, so he gave up on that line of thought quickly. The front door was large, but its hinges were oiled and it slid open easily. He slipped through the smallest crack he could manage.

Outside, the night air was fresh and clean. Credence wished he could appreciate it.

Realizing what he had to do, Credence felt his stomach churn angrily. He pressed his palms to it through his thin nightshirt, willing it to calm down. The night had barely begun. He couldn’t go and lose his (delicious) dinner already.

On the count of three, he would do it. He took a deep breath.

When he let go this time, it was different. Less anger and joy, more pain and _quiet._

Around him glittered the stars. He’d flowed into the air seamlessly, without any needless destruction. He had only one thing to lash out at today. Only one target he could locate. Only one he wanted to.

When he arrived in front of the church he forced his body back together. It resisted, of course it did, but he needed to face this on his own two feet.

Instead of knocking he simply pushed the side entrance open. It creaked loud enough to wake anyone still sleeping; he’d been counting on that. Carefully, he made his way across the cold floor, his feet automatically finding their old pathways.

“Who’s there?” Called a small, sleepy voice. It wasn’t the voice Credence had been hoping to hear. When he looked up and saw Modesty’s pale face, however, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling just slightly.

“I’m home,” he whispered gently. Her eyes widened, finally taking in his silhouette in the dark, and then she was racing down the stairs. She was usually so subdued, so broken inside that she couldn’t move like a normal child, but when she ran to Credence’s arms he saw a glimpse of what the world might be like if it were kinder.

“Where were you?” She whispered, clutching at his clothes desperately. “Ma was terribly angry when you went missing.”

Unbidden Credence’s hands fisted in Modesty’s nightgown. He knew what Mary Lou’s anger looked like, and he would never wish it on his little sister. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I never should have left you behind.”

“You never should have left at all,” said Mary Lou. Her voice was the crack of a whip in the dark.

In a flash Credence had Modesty behind him, his hands out to protect her. Mary Lou’s face was already moving from shock and into fury. “I see you’ve come back,” she said coldly. “Found life on the streets too challenging, didn’t you? I always knew you were too weak to survive without guidance.”

Every word Credence had thought up went out of his mind in a flash. He was left staring up the very steps he’d ascended so many times, and wondering when exactly they had become so…

Unassuming. Nondescript. Boring.

His mouth curved into a smile before he could tell it not to.

“Modesty, close your eyes.”

He didn’t have time to make sure she did. His hands were already dissolving.

When he opened his eyes, he was crouched over her body, and Mary Lou was cold. He raised his head, expecting to see Modesty at the bottom of the stairs. But he’d been turned around, was disoriented, and instead he saw Chastity’s horrified expression.

“Witch.” She sounded flat, so stunned she couldn’t manage any tone at all.

“Chastity, I -”

“Leave. This instant.” There was no room for argument there.

Turning around, Credence finally caught sight of Modesty. Her eyes were still scrunched tight, and her hands covered her ears. He felt fiercely glad, and then felt the temptation to take advantage of her blindness, she wouldn’t know if he just reached out to Chastity and - no, he couldn’t. _I made a promise to myself before coming here,_ he reminded himself.

Taking the stairs as slowly as he dared, Credence refused to look back at Chastity. He would miss her, in time. But for now her words were a brand on his mind.

At the bottom he touched Modesty’s arm, painfully gently. She opened her eyes, clear blue turned navy with dark and worry. “Do you want to come with me?” He asked.

Chastity gasped behind him. He didn’t know if she had only just realized that their mother was dead, or if she was shocked by the audacity of his question. It didn’t matter. He didn’t break eye contact with Modesty. And, solemnly, she nodded.

He was fairly certain that he couldn’t spirit Modesty away in his obscurus form, not without risking hurting her. But he remembered that unpleasant, convenient form of movement Newt had shown him. Apparition. So he wrapped Modesty in his arms, and thought furiously of Graves’ estate.

Now that his business was over, he longed to go back there. He wanted it with his entire body and soul. Wanted to be gone from this place full of people who had never loved him as he’d wished they would. Wanted it so badly that he felt a lurch, and Modesty’s body going stiff with surprise, and then they were there.

“Credence!” Newt cried suddenly. “There you are, I’ve been looking all - who’s that?”

“This,” Credence said. “Is my sister. Modesty, this is Newt.”

Gasping, Modesty pushed away from Credence and stared around her. She was clearly shocked, wringing her hands together the way she always did when she felt overwhelmed. Credence’s chest ached.

 _She’s safe now, though,_ Credence thought. _Even if Newt doesn’t know what to make of her, even if Mr. Graves doesn’t want her living here. I will make sure that this one thing is true for the rest of her life. I will keep her safe._


	10. Curtain Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied, I lied, this isn’t the last chapter. You’re getting an epilogue. AND I have an artist who volunteered to draw some art for this fic. I. Hope y’all enjoy it, cause the epilogue is both longer than the rest of the chapters and a little… unusual.

With the sudden appearance of Modesty, Graves’ life was turned upside-down for a while. He’d almost, almost been tempted to try to wash his hands of the situation, but one look at Credence had convinced him otherwise. If he’d simply handed Modesty over to Magical Child and Family Services, his boy would have been heartbroken.

So he did his research, and explained to Credence that none of them were particularly well-equipped to take care of a child, and pulled a few strings to allow Credence to meet with the foster family interested in Modesty before they took her in. They were a sweet witch and wizard, well used to caring for children from broken homes.

Nearly every day, Credence insisted on visiting her and making sure she was fine. Both Graves and Modesty’s new family indulged him. He would learn to trust them in time.

Aside from that particular, ah, hiccup, life was surprisingly smooth. Newt tutored Credence in magic, which allowed Graves to continue his job uninterrupted. They got along decently well at mealtimes, Newt filling the silence with notes on his studies more often than not. Truth be told, Graves had been somewhat apprehensive about living with them, but he found he enjoyed it.

The only thing he didn’t particularly enjoy were the nights. Not because they perturbed him, but because they felt like a constant, mocking _tease._

More often than not, Credence and Newt spent their nights fucking. And even though Graves’ home didn’t have particularly thin walls, Credence was very _vocal._ Graves was often treated to moans, and occasionally to dirty talk. And _very_ occasionally, to the sweet sounds Newt would make when Credence used whatever method he had of taking the man apart.

It was so thoroughly distracting that Graves found himself going without sleep more and more often. Perhaps that was why he didn’t notice that Newt was doing the same, and Credence doing the opposite, until Newt pulled him aside one day.

“I only ask because Tina said you might be able to help,” Newt said. He had a light blush dusting his cheeks, but the lovely color couldn’t distract entirely from the bags under his eyes. “She said there were some, um, rumors about you.”

“Rumors?” Graves arched an eyebrow. He knew that there were plenty of rumors about him, but he couldn’t think of any off the top of his head that Newt would be interested in.

“Hear me out,” Newt started. “When we were imprisoned by Kegley -” Graves jerked, but remained silent - “We would often get some rather, ah, sadistic clients. I hated them, but Credence would sometimes… I’m not sure how to explain it.”

Choosing his words carefully, Graves said, “Did he find them somehow relaxing?”

Newt looked rather relieved that Graves had provided him with the word. “Yes. I won’t pretend to understand it, but I think it provides him with something he needs. He’s been… well, I worry about him. He gets these depressive moods, and the obscurus resists integrating more fiercely than ever.”

“And you think I can help,” Graves surmised. He was, truth be told, stunned. He hadn’t expected to get an offer like this. Certainly not from one of the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen.

“You’re under no obligation, of course. You’ve already done so much for us. It’s just that I’ve heard you have some experience in the matter, and truth be told I don’t want to attempt something and hurt him accidentally due to my inexperience -”

“I’ll do it,” Graves cut Newt off. His voice wavered, but he covered it with a cough at the end.

Relief washed over Newt’s face, and his shoulders slumped. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Could you come to our room after dinner? We can discuss it with Credence then.”

So Graves nodded, and now he found himself standing outside their door, staring at the engraved wood. It was ludicrous, that he should feel nervous about entering a room in his own home. Yet here he was. Nervous.

Percival had faced down dark wizards without flinching. He could do this. Taking a deep breath, he raised his fist and knocked three times.

In seconds Newt was opening the door, wearing a weary smile. “Thank you, again,” he said as he let Graves in.

“I should be thanking you,” Graves said gruffly.

Credence was sitting in his desk chair, squirming uncomfortably. “Newt s-said you were going to talk about how to help me,” he said. “But I don’t know that I need help. I wouldn’t even know what to ask for.”

“We can start with what you don’t want.” Graves slipped to one knee in front of Credence. It certainly got the boy’s attention, even more so when Graves touched under his chin lightly to force him to make eye contact. “What have you had bad experiences with.”

“A - a belt,” he started hesitantly. Graves nodded, the ghost of an encouraging smile on his face. He was falling into a familiar roll, slowly but surely. He liked this part.

“Flogging and caning, too,” Newt added after a moment. That left out a lot of the impactplay Graves was interested in, but there was plenty more they could do.

“And,” said Credence softly. “I don’t want you to heal me after.”

That was clearly news to Newt. “Credence, we can’t just leave you with untreated wounds.”

Nodding, Credence said, “I know. But I don’t want you to use any magic, please.”

“Okay,” Graves said, cutting off whatever protestation Newt had been about to come up with. “I can work with that.”

He thought, perhaps, that knives might work. He had an enchanted set that he adored working with, and he knew the human body well enough to be able to indulge Credence without scarring him or requiring magical healing. They were off to a fairly good start already.

“Are you okay with restraints?” Graves asked.

“Yes,” Credence said, something longing in his voice.

“No crosses,” Newt interjected. Credence looked up at him, surprise making his lips part the slightest bit. Graves had a feeling that the last provision was more for Newt than for Credence, but he didn’t comment.

There was a pause, during which Graves began formulating a plan. He stroked his fingers through Credence’s hair, satisfying himself with the way Credence shivered. _So receptive,_ the boy would be an excellent submissive. He only had one more question before he could hash out his plan in detail with the two of them.

“I know you said you don’t know what to ask for,” Graves said gently. “But if you have anything at all you want, either of you, now’s the time to say so.”

Credence’s brows scrunched together in thought. He was silent for a while, but then Newt said something soft behind them. Graves turned around, saying, “What was that?”

“Smallness,” Newt whispered. “You wanted to feel small, right sweetheart?”

At the mere mention of the word Credence was blushing deep red and looking down at the ground. Graves decided he could take that as an affirmative, and he felt a slow smile stretching his lips. “That gives me an idea,” he said.

♠♠♠

Just the thought of what they were planning to do had Credence trapped between shame and excitement. Newt insisted that Credence had nothing to be ashamed of, that plenty of people shared his needs (that those people could be good too). It was hard to take his words to heart, though, so Credence was festering.

Graves had told them both, in detail, what he expected of them. Newt seemed nervous too, and all he was expected to do was sit with Credence’s head in his lap. If that alone was enough to be worrying, why shouldn’t Credence feel so restless?

As much as he wanted them to do this, he couldn’t help but fear that he was somehow forcing Newt into it. After all, Newt had no particular desire to participate in any kind of pain. At least Graves seemed _very_ pleased with the situation, for what it was worth.

Newt briefly stopped massaging his shoulders to kiss the back of his neck, “What is it sweetheart?” He asked innocently.

“Nothing,” Credence said quickly.

Sighing, Newt rubbed both hands down Credence’s back. “I know you too well for that to work.”

“I’m just a bit worried. It’s nothing.”

“I know you too well for _that,_ too.”

Well, if Newt insisted on dragging it into the light. “Are you sure this doesn’t, you won’t -”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Newt kissed the back of his neck again. This one was lingering, and punctuated by a scrape of teeth that made Credence’s heart skip a beat. “You’ve been the most wonderful lover I could have hoped for. This is the least I can do for you.”

“But -” Newt cut off Credence’s protest with a bite to his nape. An embarrassing squeak escaped his mouth, and then Newt was chuckling while Credence covered his mouth.

A smile had snuck up on Credence somewhere in there. “I love you,” he whispered.

“Love you too,” Newt replied, easy as breathing.

Once he deemed Credence’s shoulders sufficiently relaxed, Newt undid Credence’s pants and slid them off his legs. It was familiar, and Credence was still soft, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing when Newt’s eyes roamed down his body. The lights in their room were dim, and Credence worried that the shadows cast by slightly raised scars were unsightly.

Looking at Newt’s body, he reminded himself that Newt would never judge him for something like that. Steeling himself, Credence leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend.

Their kisses were well-practiced by now, and comfortable. Newt didn’t even need to break the kiss while he undressed himself. Once they were both naked, they finally broke apart, both of them breathing a bit harder than usual.

“You can come in now!” Newt called out the door.

Smooth as butter, Graves stepped in, closing the door behind him.

His gaze was heated and confident already. Credence was briefly reminded of Grindelwald, but one look at his posture - favoring his right leg - and his face - so open and clearly enjoying himself - reminded him of who was truly in front of him. It was strange, that they could be so different and yet so alike.

If the differences put him at ease, however, then the thought of what they were about to do had him worrying all over again. He wasn’t worried about himself enjoying it, quite the opposite in fact. He knew that the moment the words he was supposed to say left his mouth he wouldn’t be able to deny his perversion any longer.

“Lay down dear boy,” Graves said, setting down the case he carried on the bed. “There you go, nice and easy.”

Soothingly stroking Credence’s hair, Newt gave him an encouraging smile. When Credence was flat on his belly, his head pillowed in Newt’s lap, he strained his neck so that he could still see that smile. It was grounding, familiar amongst the unsure, new ground of their dynamic.

Graves clicked open his case, and then there was a rustle as he removed items. Four sets of cuffs, Credence knew without looking. That was the plan.

First his right wrist was bound to a hook in the bed, then his right ankle. Graves moved around the bed to reach the other side and do the same there, and suddenly Credence felt a jolt of nerves. “M-Mister Graves -”

“Ah ah ah,” Graves admonished lightly. “What’s my name, Credence?”

“Papa,” Credence blurted. Then, face going hot, he hid in Newt’s wiry thigh.

“Very good,” Graves praised. Credence shifted awkwardly, only to find that all four limbs were already cuffed. The knowledge made him squirm even more.

Already, he was getting hard. At least his partners couldn’t see it with the way he was laying on the bed. That was a small mercy.

Behind him the mattress dipped as Graves climbed onto it. This time, the sound of him taking something out of the case was a bit more sinister. It was metallic, and soft, and made Credence think of the coming pain. Saliva pooled in his mouth.

“Turn your head to the side,” Graves ordered.

After a second Credence did. He opened his eyes, too, and saw that Graves was holding one knife in either hand. Both were beautiful, with intricate silver patterns and inlaid crystals. One was pale blue, and the other a sunshine yellow. “Which do you want?” Graves said. “You need to choose, sweet boy.”

Looking up at Newt, Credence sought out some sort of guidance. But Newt only passed his thumb over Credence’s lips in a gentle caress. So Credence closed his eyes once more, and whispered, “The yellow, please Papa.”

“You’re doing well,” Graves said. Credence whined low in his throat without meaning to. He didn’t feel like he’d done anything to deserve praise yet, but - Newt was the gentle, coddling one. Graves wouldn’t compliment him for doing _nothing,_ right?

The bed dipped as Graves moved a bit. He was between Credence’s spread legs, he realized suddenly. The heat he was putting off was noticeable, even though he was still wearing his pants.

Slowly, as if savoring the anticipation, he brought the knife down. He pressed it flat to Credence’s skin, not cutting yet, just letting him feel - _oh, what was that?_

It was a sharp shock like static, followed by a tingle that diffused from the place where the metal touched him. Gasping, Credence balled his hands into fists and writhed.

“Electricity is a marvelous invention, don’t you think?” Graves dragged the blade down the line of Credence’s spine, from up near his neck to his tailbone.

“Yes P-Papa,” Credence replied.

As a reward, Graves gave him his first cut. It was horizontal across the back of one thigh, and it made Credence try to kick his leg in surprise. It was a good thing he’d let Graves tie him down, he realized dazedly.

Someone made a wounded sound, and Credence thought it was himself until Newt’s hands cradled his chin. “Sweetheart, is this what you wanted?” He asked, voice wavering even more than Credence’s had.

Heart aching, Credence smiled. His eyes were teary, he knew, but the smile was sincere. He loved Newt. Loved that he had been perceptive enough to notice what Credence wanted. Loved that he’d asked this of Graves even though he was sometimes as anxious about people as Credence was.

To convey that love, Credence ducked down and pressed a kiss to Newt’s navel. He got a sharp inhale in response, and it was such a sweet sound he couldn’t stop himself from continuing to mouth his way downwards. By the time he made it to Newt’s cock, Graves was making a matching cut on the back of his other thigh.

Credence loved the electricity, he decided. It zipped along his skin, left him twitching in ways that brought the blade minutely deeper into his body. And if the distraction of pain made him a bit clumsy as he nuzzled Newt’s dick, well, Newt liked when Credence was overwhelmed and sloppy.

After making a few more cuts, Graves paused. Credence imagined that he was watching the way he licked the head of Newt’s cock, or the way Newt gasped and gripped Credence’s hair. “Don’t let him deep throat you,” Graves said gruffly.

Panting, Newt replied, “Do you hear that love? Don’t make me pull your hair.”

All he could do in response was moan. He _wanted_ Newt to pull his hair. He wanted Newt in his throat.

But Graves’ orders were final tonight, unless Newt or Credence called the whole thing off. So Credence’s protests went unvoiced, and Graves went back to slicing up his thighs.

Once he started nearing the back of Credence’s knees, Graves paused again. “Do you want more of the same knife, or something different?” Newt had to help guide Credence off of his dick, and then it was a long moment of catching his breath before he could respond.

He almost asked for more electricity, but curiosity won out. “Different one, please Papa.”

This time, Credence also found himself savoring the anticipation of it. He didn’t know what the next knife would feel like, but he was sure it would be good. And Newt was still cradling his face and carefully gripping his hair, so all Credence had to do was open his mouth to let Newt in. He could feel himself becoming pliant between the two men.

To his surprise, Credence realized that he was happy. He felt warm and safe and cared for. He felt, almost, _small._

A new knife met the skin on his shoulder blades, and Credence had to focus to make sure his teeth didn’t accidentally graze Newt’s cock. This blade was _cold._ Like it had been soaking in an ice-water bath.

“You take to pain so beautifully,” Graves said. “It makes me want to keep you. Would you allow me the honor of writing my name in your skin, sweet boy? I can promise it won’t scar.”

“Mhmm,” Credence hummed assent. If he’d had his face free, he would’ve nodded furiously. Oh, how he wanted that. The noise he made had Newt’s hips bucking just a tiny bit deeper into his face, too, and that was all so _good._

His thighs were slick with blood, but the cold blade on his upper back seemed to be slowing the flow significantly. That would make the words easier to read, Credence realized distantly. The thought was absolutely delicious.

As Graves traced the curve of the “S,” Credence thought longingly of how nice it would be to have Newt’s name beside his. He couldn’t ask for it though, so instead he tapped Newt’s thigh and looked up at him with pleading eyes. Newt’s pupils were blown huge, and only got bigger as understanding dawned on his face.

“Add my name, too,” he said softly.

Percival did without hesitation. Credence’s hips were the ones bucking now, shamelessly humping into the soft sheets. He thought of the ownership in it, the way Newt and Graves had laid claim to his very skin, and -

“Our good, dear boy,” Graves purred, shockingly close to Credence’s ear. “You’re doing so well for Papa and Mama, aren’t you?”

Jolting, Credence made a sound that was very like a sob. Newt tried to pull Credence off of him, perhaps to check if he was okay, but Credence fought his grip. _Papa and Mama._ Graves hadn’t said anything about referring to Newt that way, and the surprise of it rode the edge of too much. But it was just shy of pushing Credence into a panic, instead adding an extra layer to the feelings already building up inside of him.

For once, he _did_ feel small. His eyes had slid shut again, and the world was dark and remarkably welcoming. Waves of pain moved sluggishly through him, coalescing in the small of his back and between his legs.

“One more knife,” Graves said. “Can you handle it, Credence?”

_”Mmhmmm!”_

The inarticulate, begging answer got a chuckle out of Graves. The pause while Graves got out the next knife was longer this time, but Credence couldn’t care less. He was bobbing his head on Newt’s cock, his jaw pleasantly full and aching. He was rocking his hips into the bed and relishing the way each movement caused his cuts to throb. He was in the dark and he was safe.

He was sort of reminded of a boat, actually. Or how he imagined a boat to be. It was like a cloudy night, no stars, new moon, ocean like black glass beneath him. Rocking, rocking, incessant and calming and out of Credence’s control no matter how powerful he got.

The first cut was on his left forearm, and it _hurt._

Newt pulled Credence off his cock in a hurry, and Credence couldn’t even make a sad sound because he needed all the air he could get. _What was that knife?_ It drew all of his attention to the point where it broke through his skin. It was as though every mark made with it hurt a hundred times more than it should.

Credence _loved_ it.

Once he’d caught his breath, Graves gave him another cut. Credence _screamed._

“Sweetheart?” Newt’s voice had gone high with worry. “Are you okay? If you want to stop, we can.”

“No, no, no,” Credence chanted. “It’s so good, please. Papa, _Mama!”_

All the amplified pain the enchantment in the knife caused faded quickly when it left his skin. He was so, so hungry for more, please, he was _close,_ he could feel it, his balls drawing up tight towards his body.

He realized that he was babbling when Newt ducked his head down and kissed Credence fiercely.

A third cut, and this time Credence screamed into Newt’s mouth. A fourth, and he was quieter, better prepared for what was coming. A fifth, and Graves was switching sides, ready to ruin his right forearm too.

A sixth, and Newt was pushing Credence’s mouth onto his cock again. A seventh, and Credence was sucking hard, his tongue too clumsy to employ any tricks. An eighth, and he could feel Graves’ cock pressing against his leg, hard through his trousers. A ninth, and Credence’s spine arched sharply.

Tenth, and Credence was coming hard, shudders wracking his frame as Graves hastily pulled away to prevent him from hurting himself. Newt followed him over the edge a moment later, a sweet, broken cry falling from his slack lips. Credence swallowed down everything he gave him, desperate and happy.

Coming down from the high was a gradual process. Credence thought he’d only been lax and in the throes of pleasure for moments, but the next time he opened his eyes his wrists and ankles were already free and Graves had packed his toys back in their case.

When he tried to move his limbs, however, Newt and Graves both pressed his hands gently to the bed. “Careful,” Graves cautioned. “We need to treat your cuts, Credence.”

“Yes, okay,” Credence said. The words felt sluggish coming out of his mouth.

He’d expected to enjoy himself. He hadn’t expected the lingering softness inside of him, which made the soothing ointments Newt and Graves applied to his skin all the more enjoyable. He hadn’t expected the warmth in his chest as they wrapped bandages around his arms and legs, or as they applied some kind of adhesive to his back.

In particular, he hadn’t expected Graves to be okay with not coming. “This wasn’t about me,” he said firmly. “This was about the two of you and your needs. As a dominant, I know that there is a time and place for my own pleasure, and that time was not now.”

At a loss, Credence could only nod. Newt helped him into a sitting position slowly, well aware of how bad Credence would be hurting once the endorphins wore off.

“Now then,” Graves said. “Did you both enjoy yourselves?”

“Oh yes,” Credence said breathlessly. “Did you, Papa?”

“You can call me Graves, now. Or Percival if you’d prefer.”

“Right then,” Newt said. “Percival, I only have one slight, er, complaint.”

“You’re welcome to voice it,” Graves said calmly. Credence didn’t know how he could possibly be calm. His own heart was speeding up, though it wasn’t going as fast as it normally would after a statement like that.

“What you called me,” Newt shifted awkwardly beside Credence. “What if you’d upset Credence?”

 _Mama,_ Credence thought, with his heartbeat pounding in his ears. “I wasn’t upset,” he said softly.

“If it had upset him, we would have stopped,” said Graves. “I had a hunch that he would enjoy it.”

“But still,” Newt insisted. “It was a risk, and -”

“I liked it,” Credence clarified. “I might want to do it again.”

Gaping, Newt stared at Credence for a long moment. Graves cleared his throat awkwardly. “There you have it.”

“I…” Newt shook his head slowly. “I don’t think I want you to call me that again. At least - not for a while. I need to think about it.”

Disappointment welled up in Credence’s chest, but he swallowed it down and nodded. It was easier than usual to handle. Everything was easier than usual. Why?

He wanted to ask, but he had to get dressed. They’d decided to do this in the morning, since it would minimize the chances of Credence reopening his injuries in his sleep (he still tossed and turned with nightmares quite often). So their day was only beginning, and Credence couldn’t help but hope his good mood would linger for most of it.

His clothing was… odd, on his skin. He still felt a bit tingly, like the electricity was lingering inside him. It was a much better feeling than being on the edge of exploding into obscurus, though.

They ate lunch in the bedroom together. It consisted of quite a bit of tea, which Newt loved, and quite a bit of fruit, which Credence loved. He’d never thought of eating out-of-season fruit before, but with magic many unexpected things were possible.

Then they moved on to the drawing room. Credence had had no idea what a drawing room was prior to moving in with Graves, but after having it explained to him (and in turn explaining it to Modesty) he’d begun meeting with his sister there. Usually, Newt and Graves didn’t join him on those meetings. But today he supposed they wanted to keep an eye on him.

The floo flashed its customary shade of green, and out stepped Modesty. Credence smiled the second he saw her, even though it made his sore jaw twinge.

“Credence,” she said softly, taking his hand in her own, tiny one. “How’ve you been.”

“Never better,” he answered honestly. “You?”

“Mrs. Burns taught me to play chess. I enjoy it.”

“Good,” Credence said, and he knew his voice was uncharacteristically soft. Modesty squinted at it for a moment, then glanced out of the corner of her eye at where Graves and Newt sat. Graves was reading, and Newt was scribbling in his journal, so neither appeared to be paying attention to their conversation.

Leaning in conspiratorially, Modesty murmured, “You do look very happy.”

“That’s because I am,” Credence said. “Hey, would you like to play chess with me?”

She smiled a secretive smile, and nodded. A quick request to Graves’ house elves later found the two of them sitting on either side of a chess board. To Credence’s joy, Modesty was firmly winning. He loved seeing his little sister succeed at something.

(A small voice in the back of his head noted that Chastity had loved chess too, had in fact been the one to teach him. He shoved it aside. She’d made her choice, and while she had sometimes been sweet, far too often she’d sided with their adoptive mother.)

Near the end of their game, however, the floo flashed again. Graves stood in a hurry, wand already in his hand, but no Grindelwald supporters stepped through. Instead, the Goldsteins entered, Queenie primly dusting soot from her skirt and Tina firmly ignoring the smear across her cheek.

In her hand, Tina clutched a familiar suitcase. Now Newt was the one standing, casting a nervous glance between Tina and Graves. “Tina,” he said. “How kind of you to bring me my _luggage.”_

“No need to play coy,” she said proudly. “British Ministry owled your permit, and Seraphina finally approved it. Our lovely Aurors have no reason to disapprove anymore, do they Mr. Graves?”

“They do if there’s proof it was in the country prior to him obtaining the permit,” Graves grumbled. But there was no heat in it, and Credence had to hide a snicker behind his hand. Modesty gave him an alarmed look at that, and Queenie gave him a pleased one.

“Anyway, now that you can officially have them living with you again I thought you’d like them close,” Tina said, setting the suitcase on the ground. “It’s close to their feeding time today anyway, isn’t it?”

“...It is,” Newt said reluctantly. He was drawn to the suitcase almost like a magnet, and clicked it open immediately. Credence shook his head fondly.

“You’re all welcome to join him,” Queenie said breezily.

“I didn’t say that!”

“You were thinking it so clearly, dear,” she said. “Don’t worry, we all love how much you love your creatures.”

Graves muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “There are no unregistered legilimens in my house, there are no unregistered legilimens in my house.” Then he coughed, and said clearly, “I think I’d like to meet these famous creatures, myself.”

“Me too,” Modesty piped up. She looked to Credence, and when he nodded encouragingly she continued. “Credence told me there was a thing called a bowtruckle, who helped keep you company? I want to thank him.”

Looking around the room, Credence felt as though his heart was full to bursting. Life wasn’t perfect, of course. But when he moved at all he felt light twinges from his various cuts, and for the first time in a long time he felt fully awake and aware, and he was well on his way to trusting Graves and Tina and…

“Thank you, dear,” Queenie said softly, walking up beside him. “You’ve been marvelously strong, you know.”

“I couldn’t have done it without help,” Credence whispered back as their friends and family followed Newt into the suitcase.

“That doesn’t make it any less impressive,” Queenie insisted.

Deep, deep down, Credence almost believed her. And it was okay if he couldn’t quite bring himself to say anything to that effect. He wasn’t in any hurry. There was no abuse or torture to escape from anymore. He could take his time, and learn more of himself.

Quietly, the obscurus inside him went to sleep.


	11. Lunate Comes the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all they’ve been through, they deserve a break. Credence from the anxieties that eat him up inside. Newt from the world that refuses to understand him. Graves from the constant, grinding knowledge of his failures. Luckily, they can find solace in one another.

They found it when they least expected to. Newt, Graves, and Credence were all digging through MACUSA records in an attempt to find Modesty’s birth certificate. They knew that she was a witch, and suspected that she hadn’t been muggleborn, so there had to be  _ something. _

Someone must have grabbed the wrong file, however, because Newt gasped halfway through searching. Credence looked up, curious, and Newt handed over a piece of paper that had the wrong year by more than a decade. The date was June 13th, 1902. The last name was common, though Credence didn’t know anyone with it personally. Moore.

But then he saw the first name and stopped breathing entirely.

“What is it?” Graves asked, peeking over his shoulder. It only took a second for him to inhale sharply too.

The three of them couldn’t look away from the paper for a long, long moment. It had a small water stain in the bottom left corner. It looked so unassuming and plain.

It listed a birthday Credence had never celebrated. Mary Lou hadn’t allowed for the celebration of birthdays, had said they fostered greed and selfishness.

“This is less than a month away,” Newt said softly. “That doesn’t give us very much time to plan.”

“Plan?” Credence looked between the two of them, brows furrowing. “Plan what?”

“A party for you, sweetheart,” Newt said gently.

Just the thought had Credence’s stomach churning nervously, but before he could say so Graves was speaking. “You could take your birth name again, if you want,” he mused.

Credence shook his head. “It wouldn’t feel right,” he said honestly. (He didn’t think about how he  _ did  _ want to change his last name, but had lately been wondering whether Scamander or Graves would be better. He wanted his last name to have  _ meaning  _ to him. Moore was… nobody, a blank space in his memory.)

On the other hand, a birthday party was almost an intriguing concept. Except that it was too terrifying for Credence to feel properly curious about it.

Before he could get himself worked up over it, Newt kissed him on the nose lightly. “We’ll discuss it later,” he said. “For now we aren’t done searching, right?”

“Right.” Maybe if Credence was lucky, Newt and Graves would simply forget to bring it up again.

He should’ve known that his partners (they’d agreed on the term recently, and it still felt strange in his mind) wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded. The next day, while Newt worked on some other project of his, Graves took Credence to a clothing store. “Choose whatever you want,” he said.

Sure he’d misunderstood, Credence tilted his head. “You want me to tell you what clothes I like?”

“I want you to tell me what clothes you’d like me to  _ buy _ for you.”

“B-buy?” Credence looked around at the racks, swallowing hard. The clothing all had the sleek, muted look of obscene wealth. “No, I couldn’t possibly -”

Smiling indulgently, Graves petted Credence’s hair in a single, confident stroke. “My money would do more good making my sweet boy pretty than it’s doing sitting in my bank account.”

That particular form of flattery never failed to make Credence’s cheeks color pink. “A-alright.”

After looking around for a while, Credence found himself gravitating towards the women’s clothing. He found it embarrassing, but reminding himself that Graves would also like him dressed up helped. In fact, it had been Graves who suggested Credence allow his hair to grow out into a style rather similar to that of the flappers Credence had seen.

In the end, he selected a red dress that was… less risque than it could’ve been, along with a black fur coat. He blushed and stuttered all the way through asking for them, but Graves was kind and patient as could be.

Then they headed out the front door of the shop, instead of going back home through the floo. Credence was left looking at Graves curiously, wondering what else he could possibly have planned. He was only on his lunch break, after all; he didn’t exactly have unlimited free time today.

Graves led him down the street, and then took an abrupt left turn down an alley. Credence stuck close to his back, nervous at the dark, unfamiliar surroundings.

His wand was a comforting weight in his pocket. When paranoia tried to creep up on him, saying Graves had been kidnapped once more and Grindelwald was luring him into a trap, Credence reminded himself that he wasn’t so helpless anymore.

They ended up in a small, out-of-the-way shop. The only person inside was a bored cashier. She didn’t give them a second glance as they walked past her.

Considering the merchandise in the store, Credence wasn’t surprised. With merchandise like _ that,  _ she probably had all sorts of people walk through the door.

The store was stacked with shelf upon shelf of.  _ Things. _ Things used for sex. Credence was blushing so hard his ears felt like they were on fire.

“If you aren’t sure what something is meant to do, just ask me,” Graves said. He sounded far too calm, considering where he’d just brought Credence. What he wanted Credence to do.

Somehow, this was so much harder than actually having sex. Or negotiating a scene.

Skittish and nervous, Credence crept through the aisles, even more subdued than he had been in the clothing store. Here, the women’s section was not stylishly cut dresses and long scarves, but lingerie that made Credence’s heart stutter at just the thought of putting it on.

He came across a small selection of collars and stopped in his tracks. He felt as though he’d been winded. They came in a variety of colors and styles, some designed to keep one’s neck stretched, some with an adjustable chain in the back that could be gripped to choke the wearer. But Credence had his eyes locked on a simple black one, with a silver ring attached to the front.

At once, he knew both that he wanted it more than he could ever justify, and that he couldn’t ask for it. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth the moment he considered saying a word.

So he moved on and, swallowing both his pride and burgeoning disappointment, selected a metal device at random. He handed it over to Graves, refusing to look him in the eye. Graves inspected it, then said, “Credence, do you know what this does?”

Hesitantly, Credence shook his head. Gloved fingers touched his chin lightly and encouraged him to meet Graves’ dark eyes.

“It will prevent you from getting hard. You’ll have to come on my cock alone.”

_ Oh. _ Credence couldn’t stop the shiver that went through him, but it made Graves’ gaze heat, so it wasn’t all bad. They ended up purchasing the item, which Graves called a “chastity cage,” and then they were finally headed through the floo to the estate.

As soon as they were home, Graves had to go back to work. He took the gifts with him, promising to hide them until Credence’s birthday arrived. Which left Credence with nothing to do, and rather restless on top of it.

Walking to the library, Credence resolved to do some reading. Mary Lou had ensured that all her children be literate enough to read the bible and make fliers, but she’d been so strict as to what they were actually allowed to read. Now that Credence had access to a seemingly unlimited supply of books, he found that he quite enjoyed learning from them.

When he arrived he found Newt already sitting at one of the armchairs. Apparently, he had finished whatever he’d been working on, and was giving himself the same break Credence had planned. He looked up as Credence approached, and gave him a gentle smile.

“How was your outing?” He asked, stretching out a hand toward Credence.

Easily, Credence took Newt’s hand in his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it. It had taken months before the two of them were comfortable enough to indulge in this sort of casual display, but he was glad he’d put in the effort of getting used to it now.

“Interesting,” answered Credence. “Graves took me to an unusual store.”

“Unusual? How so?” Newt slipped his hand away and gave Credence a  _ look. _

“Um,” Credence blushed, and that seemed to be all the answer Newt needed, because he smirked in response. Quickly trying to change the topic, Credence blurted, “What are you reading?”

“A book on pre-colonial myths. They sometimes contain clues about beasts I’m currently studying, you see.”

“Did this one have any new information?”

“Not yet, but I’m not quite done with it. Do you want to have a look?”

Credence squinted at the pages as Newt held it out to him. The font was tiny, reminding him more of a dictionary than the storybooks he’d been reading recently. And the actual words were frequently, embarrassingly, too academic for him to understand.  _ The lunate horns of the gargantuan beast… _ “What does lunate mean?”

“It means ‘in the shape of a crescent.’ You know, like the moon? Luna?”

“Hmm.” What a strange word. Credence couldn’t imagine it being useful often.

In the corner, the clock chimed the hour. Newt’s eyes widened in sudden realization, then he was slamming the book shut. “Oh no, I forgot - Credence, I’m sorry dear, I have to go do something. You could contact Modesty or Tina for company, can’t you?”

Nodding, Credence decided to keep his mouth shut about how he’d been planning on reading by himself. Though he was a reclusive man himself, Newt often seemed worried that Credence was isolated in some way. Perhaps Newt thought the company of his creatures exempted him from a need for human contact.

Once Newt was out of sight, Credence sighed and sat in his newly-vacated chair. He knew that it would be easy to ask Modesty to visit - they had a pair or enchanted flowers, and when the blossoms of one were disturbed the other would ring like a bell. If he wanted to, he could simply brush the petals with his fingertips, and she would come to visit if she was free.

But truth be told, he was feeling a bit drained after the day he’d had. He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend much more time socializing, and the thought of possibly pulling Modesty away from bonding time with her foster parents made anxiety rear its ugly head.

_ Or, _ he realized, _ I could just use the floo to talk for a bit. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. _ Yes, he liked that plan quite a bit better.

Heading to the fireplace, Credence took a small handful of powder from the ceramic dish on the mantlepiece. He tossed it in, said “The Burns’ residence,” then stuck his head into them. It was an odd feeling, tickling around his neck, but he was getting used to it.

His eyes opened to reveal a library that was rather more humble than Graves’, though it was still far more decadent than anything Credence had ever expected him or Modesty to be living in. There she was, in a rocking chair, waving a practice wand in the air and muttering to herself.

“Modesty,” Credence started. He didn’t get any more out before she was leaping to her feet and running over to the fireplace, a smile on her face.

She looked so different now than she had living with Ma. Her hair was a golden tumble down her shoulders, reaching almost to her hips. Her eyes glittered and sparkled in the strange light of the floo. “I missed you, brother,” she said. “Have you found my certificate?”

“Not yet,” Credence said, suddenly rather guilty at his own good luck. “But I missed you too, so I wanted to say hello.”

“That’s alright. I’m not in a hurry.” Modesty sat on the rug so that her face would be level with his. “What have you been doing.”

“Mr. Graves took me shopping today,” Credence said, before he realized he  _ really  _ couldn’t tell his  _ sister  _ about what they’d bought.

“Really? Where did you go? Why did he take you?”

“Some wizarding stores,” Credence said vaguely. “And he - I’m sorry, but he and Newt decided they wanted to celebrate my birthday.”

“Your birthday? You don’t have to be sorry!” Modesty soothed. “What day did you pick to celebrate? I want to come too.”

“June thirteenth,” Credence said. Let her believe it was a random choice, and not a result of their finding his records before hers.

“I can come, can’t I? Credence, please say I can come.”

“Of course you can,” his smile felt wobbly, but it was genuine. “I’m always more at ease when you’re there.”

“Thank you,” she said, so sweet it made his heart ache.

For a while longer, they simply chatted together. It was soothing, and they could talk about anything and nothing for what felt like forever. Silence with Modesty was familiar, safe, even after so much time spent free from Ma’s tyranny (he still wasn’t entirely sure if Modesty knew he’d killed Ma; he didn’t ask, and she didn’t bring it up).

Eventually she had to go to a tutoring session, and Credence had to eat dinner. He dined alone for once, the huge table stretching away from him for what felt like forever. That was okay, though. His partners were just busy. Tonight they’d sleep together, piled into the same bed, and the loneliness would be gone as if it had never existed.

The next week was much the same. Graves and Newt and Credence searched together, unsuccessfully, for records of Modesty’s birth. Graves incessantly filled out paperwork when he wasn’t searching or sleeping. Newt cared for his animals, and worked on a project he still wouldn’t show Credence, and usually kissed him goodnight.

During that time, they didn’t fuck once. Which was fine, Credence reasoned, as they’d had dry spells before. And it wasn’t like it was that much time anyway. But still, he felt worry eating away at him, and it took all his strength to shake it off for a time.

Visiting Graves at work was meant to help distract Credence, but before he could make it to his office he was captured by Queenie. She practically barrelled into him, hooking her arm around his before he’d even processed she was there. “Aw, sweetheart!” She said. “Do you want to get some tea? I haven’t used my break yet today.”

Surprised, Credence let her tug him along for a few steps before he tried to pull away. “But, I…”

“No buts,” she said firmly. “I know a boy who needs tea when I see one.”

Since he was unable to find a way to politely tell her to  _ shove off, _ Credence had no choice but to follow her. The breakroom she took him to was small and dingy, but with a wave of her wand she had a sweet-smelling tea brewing in seconds.

“Sit,” she said. Her voice was as sugary as ever, but Credence obeyed without a second thought. She kind of intimidated him, still.

Once the tea was done she sat across from him, levelling him with a look that made him feel all pinned-down-butterfly. He squirmed as she poured, then snatched the cup she pushed towards him just to have something to do with his hands. He sipped it, the flavor reminding him of kisses from Newt and making his heart ache all over again.

“Shall I start, or should you?” Queenie said.

“P-pardon?” Credence set the cup back down carefully.

“Darling, we both know something’s troubling you. I’ll share my woes if you share yours.”

“You can, um, read my mind, right? Why do you need me to tell you anything?”

Queenie reached across the ink-stained wood of the table to boop Credence’s nose. “Needing and wanting are two different things. Besides, people never think and talk quite the same way.”

The fact that they were so casually discussing  _ mind reading  _ was about as disconcerting as the way she’d tapped his nose. Credence shook his head, brows furrowing. He didn’t know what to say, or what she wanted him to say.

“Suppose I’ll start then,” she said easily. “I met a man recently.”

“A man?” Credence felt like he’d missed a step in the conversation.

“He’s a baker. A real cutie pie, just as sweet as his cinnamon rolls.” Her voice went all dreamy as she described him, and Credence felt understanding  _ click  _ into his mind.

“You’re in love with him.”

“Not just yet,” she corrected. “Love doesn’t come so easy when life is all settled, sweetheart. But I could love him someday.”

“Have you been - um, courting him?” Credence sipped his tea again, feeling awkward and unsure of how to phrase his questions.

“Well that’s the problem isn’t it? He’s a no-maj.”

Blinking at the word, Credence searched his mind for the meaning. He’d adjusted to life as a wizard fairly well, he’d thought, but sometimes words still tripped him up. Especially when Newt used a different word than Graves, or similar.

On the heels of remembering the meaning, however, came a second realization. “You’re not allowed to marry a no-maj, right?” He asked tentatively.

This time, her smile was more sad than gentle. Credence was reminded of the way she’d looked at him when they were still getting to know each other. “That’s right,” she said faintly.

Credence wasn’t really sure why that made him hurt so badly. Maybe it reminded him of himself, somehow, the pain of loving someone and being sure that you weren’t allowed to love them. The pain of keeping his mouth closed on words that might make his love happy or miserable. Before Newt had told him he loved Credence, love had been complicated like that.

Queenie shook her head at him, her eyes shining with tears. “Sweetheart, you’re too empathetic for your own good.”

Swallowing another gulp of tea, Credence decided he’d rather talk about his own problems than hear another compliment like that. “I don’t know why I’m so anxious,” he said honestly. “It’s just, things seem to be going too well, I suppose.”

“Feels like the calm before the storm, right?”

“Yes. I mean, I know that things don’t have to - they don’t have to be bad, Newt always reminds me, I’m allowed to be happy, but…”

“How about this,” said Queenie. “You know how, when something bad happens, people say there has to be suffering in order to balance out happiness?”

Unfortunately, he did know. So he nodded and drank more tea and tried to calm his mind.

“That’s bullshit.”

Well now he didn’t  _ have  _ any more tea to drink, because he’d just sprayed it all over the table.

Blithely, Queenie continued speaking, “Balance was made up by people, sweetie. Fate doesn’t dole out punishment and reward according to our rules.”

He wasn’t sure he understood, but he nodded anyway. She smiled at him, a look that said she knew he wasn’t sure, and that it was okay. There was no rush for him to figure things out, after all. The world wasn’t changing anytime soon.

When he left the office fifteen minutes later, he felt quite a bit more calm. Almost like he’d be able to wait the remaining time before his birthday party without fretting over it constantly.

Realistically he should’ve known better. Even when everything was fine, even when he didn’t think about the obscurus inside him for weeks on end, his mind still found ways to wrap itself up in knots. And the birthday seemed to take an eternity to arrive, though Credence knew that was a matter of perception.

On the day of the party, Credence opened his eyes to find himself more full of dread than anything else. Newt had already gotten up, so Credence was able to languish in his worries for quite a while before guilt drove him from the bed.

Dressing himself quickly, Credence hoped he’d be able to get the festivities over with as quickly as possible. But when he went to the library, where Newt and Graves had told him they planned to hold the party, he found the doors locked. Taking a deep breath, he walked to the kitchens instead, figuring some breakfast might settle his stomach.

At least the kitchen was predictably open and busy. Apparently, Graves had inherited five house elves from his father when he’d passed away. The elder Graves had been rather fond of parties, and so had to staff his home accordingly. But Percival was much more reclusive, and maintaining five house elves wasn’t cheap. So he’d begun offering their services as chefs to other wealthy wizarding families.

This meant that there was a near-constant ruckus of cooking going on during daylight hours. It was often overwhelming for Credence, but he needed the din at the moment. He thought it might distract him from his spiraling thoughts.

Breakfast consisted of two slices of buttered toast. He asked for eggs as well, but when he was staring at the gooey yolk he had to swallow down bile. Okay, his stomach was as settled as it was going to get.

Luckily, Newt came to get him before he could work himself up any longer. All it took was one look at Credence’s face, and Newt was putting down the package he held and scooping Credence up in his arms. Credence relaxed into the embrace immediately, shocked by how good it felt. He hadn’t realized he needed this until Newt was already giving it to him.

“Shh, baby,” soothed Newt. “You’ve done so well, waiting for us. Hush now.”

Though he wasn’t making any noise, Credence understood Newt’s sentiment. His worries were already subsiding beneath Newt’s strong arms.

Eventually Newt had to pull away, but he didn’t go far. He took the package he’d abandoned off the counter and then held it out to Credence; he looked halfway mischievous, but it was tempered by the obvious love in his eyes. “I can’t exactly give this to you in front of the others,” Newt said.

Now that he was feeling calmer, Credence was able to take the package from Newt’s hands and open it. Inside was a wooden rod of some kind, much thicker than a wand. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at, but then he was blushing fiercely.

Newt kneaded the back of Credence’s neck. The movement was meant to be soothing, but the warmth diffusing in Credence’s blood was only getting worse. “It’s quite a bit bigger than either me or Graves,” Newt admitted. “But you do love feeling properly stretched, don’t you baby? And besides that, it can do a, well, a trick.”

“T-trick?” Credence looked up at Newt with wide eyes. The package suddenly felt quite a bit heavier in his hands.

Smiling, Newt reached down to turn the smooth dildo and show Credence a small carving near the base. “In the war, we used these to soothe strained muscles. But some of the younger soldiers noticed a, er, different use for them. They also came up with this enchantment, which is quite a bit more convenient than the mechanical version.”

A simple flick of the wrist and muttered  _ “vibrato” _ later, and the dildo buzzed to life under Credence’s hands. Yelping, he let go of the box, and it clattered onto the table beside his discarded breakfast. Newt chuckled and said,  _ “Finite incantatem.” _

“Are you sure it feels nice?” Credence asked, suddenly nervous. He couldn’t imagine something vibrating inside him.

“Of course I am,” said Newt. “I tested it myself. I wouldn’t risk making my sweet boy uncomfortable.”

_ Tested it myself. _ Credence’s cock twitched in his pants, and he gave a brief prayer that he could remain soft for the duration of the birthday party.

Together, they walked to the library. The package had been safely closed so that no one besides the two of them would know what was inside it. Well, the two of them and also Graves, whom Newt had told, and Queenie, who knew everything anyway.

So really only Tina and Modesty were staying in the dark, but Credence was mortified at the thought of either of them catching even the slightest inkling, so they would just have to live with not knowing.

As soon as they entered Modesty was jumping up from her seat, a delicately wrapped box clutched in her small hands. It glittered with purple sparkles, and was small enough that Credence couldn’t guess what was inside it.

Even before he sat down she was thrusting it into his hands, smiling brightly. “Open mine first,” she ordered. And because Credence was helpless in the face of Modesty’s wants, he did.

What he saw inside had him tearing up immediately. Honestly, he didn’t know how they all expected him to handle these emotions in the space of a single day. He scrubbed at his eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears before they could spill.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, voice cracking.

Because, nestled in a small nest of tissue paper, there sat a small starling. Not a real starling, of course, but one made of intricately folded paper.

And it was singing. A gentle, beautiful tune he wasn’t familiar with but already loved.

“It’s because you taught me to fold up the handouts,” Modesty explained. She was more subdued now that she’d seen how affected he was. “It’s the first beautiful thing anyone taught me.”

Oh, and she was hugging him too now. It was different from the way Newt hugged him, but no less welcome.

Next it was Queenie’s turn to give him a present. They were all sitting in a circle on the floor, cushioned with pillows Credence was sure were too expensive to be used this way. Sitting like that did allow Queenie to easily slide her package to him, however. This one was a pearly pink.

He slid the lid off, then immediately slammed it back down. Now he was  _ sure  _ they were trying to give him a heart attack.

“Sorry if you didn’t want to get it from me, sweetie,” she said. “But if I left you all to your own devices you would’ve taken forever!”

Covering his face, Credence tried to shout with his mind, because.  _ A collar? Really? _

“Really,” she answered with a light giggle.

“What is it?” Newt asked, snatching the box from Credence’s lap before he could cry out. Fortunately, Newt was sitting on the other side of Credence from Modesty, so she didn’t get a look at it.  _ Unfortunately, _ Tina  _ did. _

“Oh, well, that’s certainly something.” Her voice had gone high with embarrassment. “Newt, stop staring!”

Quickly shutting his gaping mouth, Newt replaced the lid and put the box behind them. Graves looked between them, suspicious, but didn’t ask about it. He’d find out soon enough, anyway.

At least Credence could open Graves’ gift without fear. All his box contained was the fur coat, knowing that the cage and dress would be far too risque to risk Modesty seeing them. As soon as Credence opened the box he put the coat on, giving Graves a shy smile. “Thank you,” he said.

“Anything for you, dear boy,” Graves replied. Credence bit his bottom lip to keep his smile from becoming blinding.

Last up was Tina’s gift. She was the one he knew least out of all of them, and he wasn’t sure if he’d have to fake enthusiasm when she handed him a book. He squinted down at the cover, once more faced with a word he only barely knew.

“Animagus training?” He sounded out, then looked up at her for more information.

Awkwardly rubbing at the back of her head, she explained, “An animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal. Plenty of people wait until they’re out of school to learn to do it, because it takes a lot of work and you have to register with the ministry.”

Now it was Credence’s turn to have his mouth drop open slightly.

All the other gifts had significant meaning, of course. He would be treasuring Modesty’s in particular forever. But this was - she’d gone out of her way to give him something connected to magic. Something that he could do exactly the same way thousands of other wizards before him had done.

Heart aching, Credence said for a final time, “Thank you.”

With the gift giving completed, Graves snapped his fingers to signal to his house elves that he wanted wine brought in (and juice, for Modesty; though Credence would sneak her some wine anyway if she asked, because she’d had it plenty of times at the church anyway) along with some sandwiches. Then the festivities could properly begin.

Ironically Tina was the only one of them who got truly drunk. She ended up having to go home while clinging to Queenie’s shoulder, singing in Hebrew. Her sister rolled her eyes fondly, but didn’t seem to truly mind. For his part, Credence only drank enough to feel pleasantly warm and relaxed. It was still only afternoon, after all.

Once the Goldsteins were gone, Graves and Newt gently nudged Modesty out the floo too. They reminded her that she could visit again tomorrow, but for today she’d promised the Burns that she’d be home for dinner. Credence almost asked if she could stay, but Graves caught his eye and shook his head.

She left, and with her went the light hearted atmosphere. Newt and Graves had both teased him while they drank and ate, sitting too close and petting his hair, but this was different. In seconds Graves was advancing on him, a predatory look in his eyes that made Credence’s belly warm. “What did Queenie give you?” He growled.

Grabbing Graves’ upper arm, Newt gave Credence a gentle look. “Don’t be overeager, Percival. We agreed to take this slow for him.”

“Right.” Graves huffed and shook his head. “But I didn’t expect her to give you something that would make you look so  _ hungry. _ You’re downright delectable, my boy.”

Shivering, Credence admitted, “Sh-she got me a collar.”

Graves was actually standing close enough that Credence was able to see his pupils dilate at the word. He had his wand in his hand the next second, and was saying, “Accio collar.”

It flew from the box to his hands, and then he inspected it carefully. It was black and rather plain, just like the collar Credence had wanted in the store. “Strip,” Graves ordered.

“Here?” They’d never had sex outside of their bedrooms before.

“Yes.” Graves gave Credence a very serious look. “You won’t get your collar until you’re naked.”

Though Credence didn’t expect those words to have an affect on him, he found that his knees were shaking. Graves was right - he was hungry for that collar, wanted it so bad, and now that he and Graves and Newt had privacy he couldn’t deny himself any longer.

Much less embarrassed than usual, Credence stripped down. He still didn’t know how to make it tantalizing, but for once his own awkwardness wasn’t bothering him too much. Maybe it was the wine, or his full belly, or the love he’d felt his weird little family heaping on him all day. Maybe it was just the result of his body finally giving up after having been so wound up for days.

Whatever the reason, as soon as he was nude Graves was advancing on him. For once he was standing up almost straight, and normally that would mean that Graves was shorter than him, but something was different. Looking down, Credence realized that Graves’ shoes were giving him an advantage. They had small heels, which made his already shapely legs look extra good.

Graves laid the collar against Credence’s neck, effectively cutting off his train of thought. He swallowed hard, felt the way the leather resisted his movement, and had to stop himself from whining. “Bow your head,” Graves ordered.

After all the time they’d spent together, Credence obeyed the order instinctively. The moment the back of his neck was bared Graves slid the buckle into place. He fastened it, then slipped two fingers between it and Credence’s throat, as if checking to make sure a pet could breathe.

_ Pet. _ Credence swallowed again, admitting to himself that he’d need more time before he could be called that. He’d barely gotten used to  _ “baby.” _

For now, simply wearing the collar was enough for him. He touched it with his fingertips, traced the edges and wondered at it. Normally, he needed a full set of ropes or cuffs to give him the feeling of being grounded, but right now all it was taking was a strip of leather around his neck and he was relaxing.

“Newt, if you would?” Graves said without looking away from Credence’s neck.

“Hmm? Oh, right!” Newt sounded distracted, and Credence smiled without meaning to. Apparently they were all being rather affected.

There was a short rustling as Newt dug through the corner where they’d placed all of Credence’s presents, and then he triumphantly pulled out a familiar, shining piece of metal. If Credence hadn’t already been hardening, he definitely would be now.

Suddenly Graves hand shot down and squeezed his cock painfully. “Ah ah ah, remember what your new toy does baby boy. Can you calm yourself down, or do you need help?”

Whimpering, Credence took his hand off his collar to bite down on his fingertips instead. He shook his head slowly, trying to find the words to respond. When had talking become so difficult?

Face softening, Graves stroked his cheek. But the grip on his cock stayed as unyielding as ever. “Sweet boy, just take deep breaths for me, okay?”

Before he obeyed Credence looked over Graves’ shoulder at Newt. When he saw the expression on his face, half lust and half confusion, he found it was easier to obey. Slowly, his dick softened, until it was small and malleable enough that it would definitely fit in the cage.

Now Newt slid to his knees in front of Credence; he worked quickly, not allowing the image to get to Credence’s head and turn him on again. The cage was tight around his dick, and uncomfortable, but the way it cradled him… the way Newt looked at him as he pressed his thighs together… the way Graves was kneading the back of his neck…

“How did we ever get lucky enough to have you?” Newt wondered aloud.

His knees finally gave out, and Credence found himself kneeling on the carpet beside Newt. Before he could collapse entirely the redhead was gathering him up in a strong, sturdy hug. Credence shuddered as he pressed closer to Newt’s solid warmth.

“Accio lubricant,” Graves said above them. A glass jar flew to his hand, and then he strode towards a reading couch purposefully. “Credence, come here.”

Though he started to get on his feet, Newt’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Crawl, please,” Newt explained when Credence gave him a confused look.

Alright. Breathe. He could do this. He  _ would  _ do this. He would make Newt and Graves proud.

Ignoring the strange heaviness of the cage as best he could, Credence crawled towards Graves. He moved slowly, and Newt was still free to walk, so by the time he got there Newt was waiting for him as well. Thankfully, both of Credence’s partners were patient.

When he finally made it, Graves handed the jar over to Newt and said, “If you would?”

Immediately Newt was positioning himself behind Credence and spreading his legs open. Credence made a fractious noise, but Graves was already stroking his hair with one hand.

The other, Credence realized, was occupied with opening his pants and pulling out his cock. Newt’s nimble fingers smeared lube over Credence’s opening the same moment Graves leaned forward and pressed his precum-slick tip to Credence’s lips.

“Lick me well, sweet boy. Make sure I’m nice and wet for you. I don’t want you hurting today.”

He opened his mouth wide and did his best to obey. Credence truly preferred it when Graves simply fucked his mouth, and he found it difficult to keep focused on his mouth when Newt was already pressing a finger into him. But he did his best.

It was easier if he remembered from experience what Graves liked. Suckling at his head was better than licking around it. Bobbing his head up and down, especially if he choked himself just a bit near the end of the downstroke, would make Graves growl. Moaning when Newt’s finger grazed his prostate - well, that one wasn’t planned, but it certainly had a good effect.

Occassional spurts of salty precome had Credence sucking even more eagerly. He loved being full, feeling his Papa come in his mouth. Graves pulled him away just as he was reaching the edge, however, and said, “Not yet, baby. Have patience.”

Patience was somewhat of a foreign concept to Credence when he got in this mindset. He’d try, though. Of course he’d try. He’d do anything for Papa.

Leaning closer, Graves whispered in his ear, “You do have a way to speed this up. Newt said he’d let you call him Mama again.”

“Mama?” Credence said, voice wavering. It was so quiet Newt likely didn’t hear, but Graves nodded, and then Credence lost all control of his mouth. “M-Mama, please, can you,  _ ah, _ hurry?”

All at once Newt pushed two fingers into Credence harshly. “Percival, I thought we agreed you’d give me a bit of warning,” he hissed.

“P-please Mama, don’t be mad, I just want -”

“Hush baby boy,” said Newt. The anger was gone from his voice as if it had never existed. “I know what you want.”

And Newt  _ did  _ know. He scissored his fingers, worked a third in as quickly as he could without causing Credence pain. Not that Credence minded pain per se, but it sounded like Newt and Percival had agreed that there would be none today.

Then something unexpected happened. Newt curved his fingers up, pressed to Credence’s prostate, and that was normal. Except pleasure shot up Credence’s spine like flame, like a stinging hex, and he was clinging to Graves thighs and shaking hard. He was out of breath, making noises again without meaning to, while Graves chuckled above him.

“Did you know,” he said. “That if you come dry, we can wring orgasm after orgasm out of you?”

Actually, Credence did know, but he hadn’t thought about it. Hadn’t realized what the cage would help them do.

“Please!” Credence gasped. “Papa, Mama, I want you both inside me the next time I c-come!”

“Bloody fucking hell,” Newt cursed. “You two will be the death of me.”

Still, Newt gave Credence what he asked for. After a couple more thrusts (almost torture against Credence’s oversensitive rim) he pulled his fingers out and switched places with Graves. As soon as he was sitting on the couch in front of Credence, he was trying to get his cock out of his pants with trembling, wet hands.

“Oh Newt, are you forgetting something?” Graves asked sweetly.

Newt just blinked at him, pupils blown and brow furrowed, until Graves heaved a fake sigh.

“I thought we were going to give our sweet boy a bit extra to play with this time around.”

For a second longer Newt paused, dick tantalizingly close to Credence’s face but just a bit too far to lick. “Right! He exclaimed suddenly. But then he reached for his wand, only to realize it wasn’t in his sleeve.

“Poor Mama, all riled up and forgetful,” Graves tutted. “I’m the only one allowed to use magic here, remember?”

“Mama?” Credence looked up at him with big eyes, unsure what was happening.

“Give me a second love,” Newt said. He stood and walked awkwardly back to the pile of presents. This time it either took him an eternity to find what he was looking for, or Credence was losing track of time. He’d bet on the latter; the cold air against his slick entrance was torture.

Because he was so distracted, though, Credence missed seeing Newt hand over whatever it was to Graves. But then Newt was in front of him again,  _ finally  _ close enough for Credence to suck on his cock, and it didn’t matter.

Something smooth and cool pressed against his ass. Arching his spine, Credence silently begged to be filled up. He didn’t care what was filling him at the moment.

“Ready?” Graves said. “Three, two, one.”

Slipping his hands down to grip Credence’s collar, Newt forced him forward. In a second Credence was struggling to deepthroat him, and then -  _ god! _

How could he have forgotten the vibrator? Well, he certainly wasn’t going to forget it now that it was entirely inside him. And  _ buzzing. _

The sensation was as strange as it was pleasurable. It was on the edge of too much, as if Credence had come two or three times instead of just once. But it felt good, so good, he wanted more, was he thrusting his hips? Bobbing his head? He just wanted to be _ full, surrounded - _

_ Small. _

“There you go baby, that’s it,” Graves cooed. He slipped a finger in beside the toy and began thrusting both in tandem.

In his mouth, Newt was trembling. His thighs were tenser than Credence had ever felt them before. He was clearly trying as hard as he could not to thrust. Not to hurt his baby.

A moan came out unbidden, and though Credence knew Newt and Graves wouldn’t understand it, it was meant to be  _ “Mama.” _

Before long Credence was coming a second time. He shook apart on Graves’ fingers, on Newt’s gently rocking hips, on the relentless vibration deep in his belly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so much pleasure (likely he could, if he thought about it, but he was in no position to think at the moment).

He came back down slowly. Unfortunately, his pleasure-sloppy movements meant that Newt hadn’t come yet, but the ecstasy had allowed Credence to loosen further. Enough that Graves was able to push his cock in next to the vibrator.

Groaning, Graves pressed his forehead to Credence’s back. “You weren’t kidding,” he gritted out.

Even though Newt chuckled, he sounded breathless. “Nothing feels better,” he agreed.

Between the two of them, they were doing a fairly good job of obliterating Credence’s mind. Anxieties and worries seemed foreign concepts at the moment. He heard the tension in Graves’ voice and could have sung that it was him who made Graves struggle to keep control. He tasted the salt of Newt’s skin and wanted to brag that he was the only one Newt shared this with now.

With his mouth full, both singing and bragging were out of the question. But he could clench down to make Graves growl again, and he could swallow to make Newt swear.

Credence would take this over talking any day of the week.

Eventually, all good things had to come to an end. The continual pleasure from Credence’s mouth had Newt coming down his throat in minutes, and then he cradled Credence’s cheeks in his hands while Graves continued to fuck him hard. The thorough pounding left Credence’s hips pleasantly sore, but Graves gave in to the tightness and vibrations before long and filled Credence’s ass with his own come.

At last Credence came a third time. It was everything, the warmth filling him (he didn’t care if it was all in his head, he felt pleasantly stuffed after two loads of come from his partners) and the cage holding him (it felt supportive instead of restrictive now) and the collar around his neck.

In particular, he didn’t want to take that collar off. Graves took out the vibe and took off the cage easily enough, but Credence fussed and squirmed when he reached for the collar. He wanted to keep it on for as long as he was allowed.

Shrugging, Graves gave up on taking it off and instead left to get what he called “aftercare supplies.” While he was gone, Newt wrapped Credence up in a hug, right there on the floor.

Since their escape, Newt had put on a lot of weight. Most of it in muscle. He wasn’t taller than Credence, and never would be, but he was more than capable of making Credence feel small these days. Credence wanted to say so, but all he could do was hum and kiss Newt’s cheek.

The smile Newt gave in response seemed to say that he understood.

When Graves returned he wrapped the two of them in a warm blanket and ushered them onto the couch. Credence lay across it, his head in Newt’s lap, and sighed happily.

He didn’t care if he never got another birthday after this. It had more than made up for all the ones he’d missed in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this massive chapter, the AU comes to a close… kinda. This weird fic has been notoriously hard for me to predict, but I think this is the end.
> 
> I don’t have the words to say how much I loved writing this. Every comment and kudo brought a smile to my face. There’s a special kind of joy in writing longfic, in my opinion, and I’m glad so many readers could share that with me.


End file.
